Uninvited Interlude
by CheerfulChemist
Summary: This is an AU story in which Rick manages to make it to his wedding, the one at the end of season six. The CIA, however, is not about to give up on enlisting his and Kate's services for a reason different from the one cobbled together in canon. No Loksat or amnesia. I promise.
1. Chapter 1

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 1

"Damn!" Castle spits out as the black SUV comes up on his bumper. He doesn't have to recognize the driver to know that it's a Company car. When Agent Danberg called to enlist his aid, he declined politely, explaining that he and Kate were about to get married and he would be honeymooning in The Maldives for three weeks. Rick should have known they wouldn't take no for an answer.

The SUV bashes into the back bumper of Rick's Mercedes. He'll just keep going. If they kill him, they'll be defeating their purpose. If they want anything from him, he'll have to be alive and reasonably uninjured.

Another SUV comes up beside him and the front seat passenger signals for Rick to pull over. The hell he will! He has the special license he had to coax out of a judge, in his pocket - and he's going to use it to marry Kate. If the Company wants his services later, they're going to have to come up with more than trying to run him off the road.

He floors the gas pedal. The company cars are probably souped up enough to catch him, given a chance, but with multiple agents in each SUV, Rick's engine has the advantage of having to propel less weight. It's also the most powerful one Mercedes makes, and the Germans know speed.

When Rick barrels into the drive of his beach house, almost hitting the flower festooned white Rolls set to transport bride and groom, the SUV's continue down the road. Rick's sure they'll be back. The Company doesn't give up easily. He learned that when his father, despite a bullet wound that Rick and Martha amateurishly patched up, executed Gemini without hesitation.

Rick can't worry about that - or the damage to his Mercedes - now. Finally, after every obstacle thrown in their faces, he is going to marry Kate. Nothing else matters.

* * *

The guests rise to applaud as Rick and Kate embrace for their wedding kiss. We have to get out of here, now," he whispers, leading her back up the aisle. "Alexis can supervise as this crowd enjoys the food and the music, but we need to go. And no Rolls; no witness would ever forget seeing it. We'll take Mother's car. I have an extra set of keys.

"Rick, will you please talk to me," Kate pleads as Castle steers Martha's sedan up the road. "Where are we going?"

"Vinny Cardano's house. It's the last place anyone would look for us. Vinny and I made peace a few months back when we had dinner with his cousin Sal. I slipped him the recipe you gave me for your grandmother's meat sauce. We aren't buddy-buddy enough for me to have put him on the guestlist for our wedding, but he admitted that he owes us a favor. We're about to collect with a trip to the airport. There's a private field not far from here where we can get a private plane to Kennedy, to pick up our charter. Our luggage is already aboard. With any luck, we'll be out of the country before our pursuers catch on."

"Babe, what pursuers?"

"The Company, Kate. Agent Danberg called me this morning and tried to drag me back in for a mission. I told him that whatever they want would have to wait until after our honeymoon - if then. He seemed to accept that, but I'm betting some higher-ups didn't. They sent agents after me. I shudder to think what the bill for the bodywork on the Mercedes will be. I barely got away from them."

"What do they want?"

"Something to do with Sophia Turner and moles. Danberg didn't go into specifics, but if whoever the Company is after has been below ground this long, it can wait, or the company can draft someone else. Both of us nearly died on account of Sophia. I'm not anxious to give anyone else who burrowed into the organization a chance to take us out."

Kate and Rick are thrown hard against their seats when cars block the path of their charter as it picks up speed for takeoff. "Sonofabitch!" Castle exclaims. "Another minute and we would have made it."

"Sorry Castle, Detective Beckett," Danberg apologizes as he boards. "What's happening couldn't wait."

"That's Detective Beckett-Castle," Kate corrects. "And what if Rick refuses to help you?"

"When he hears everything that's happened since I talked to him this morning, I don't think that will be an issue, Detective," Danberg replies, holding out two black hoods.

Castle shakes his head. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm sorry," Danberg repeats.

"Can we at least retrieve our luggage?" Castle asks. "Kate didn't have time to change, and she shouldn't have to be dragged along in her wedding gown. Or you could leave her out of this thing entirely. She barely talked to Sophia."

"We'll bring your luggage along," Danberg agrees. "But by running with you, Detective Beckett-Castle is already involved. She'll have to be read in, as she was on our last mission together."

* * *

The flowery sundress Kate had expected to wear on her honeymoon seems out of place in the CIA's underground conference room, but nothing in her luggage was more appropriate. Castle is still in his tuxedo, but it is less unwieldy than the yards of lace she'd been wearing.

A dour man sits across from them and spreads out 8 X10 photographs on the table. Do you recognize any of these, Mr. Castle?

Rick studies them before pointing to one image. "I've seen this guy before. He knocked on Sophia's door, but when I opened it, he claimed he had the wrong apartment."

"We think that was her handler, Victor Mendeev." Dour Face explains. "Any others?"

"If this guy is who I'm remembering," Rick replies, tapping another photo, "he looked younger than this, and his hair was red, but he was a barista at a shop where Sophia and I had coffee a couple of times."

"That tracks," Danberg remarks. "His name is Yuri Deripaska. We suspected that he was passing messages back and forth between the Russians and their operatives in the U.S., but we were never able to confirm it. I believe you just did."

"I thought you were after moles," Kate protests. "Those two hardly fit the bill."

"True, Detective," Dour Face agrees, "but it would fit any of our agents, in addition to Sophia, who were spotted in their company."

"And why is that so important now?" Castle demands. "Even if I could identify moles they've been here for over a decade. Why would a few more weeks matter?"

"Because there has been a buildup of Russian activity, Mr. Castle," Danberg explains. "We believe they are supporting coordinated terrorist attacks in France, Germany, and the United Kingdom and planning to put the blame on a rogue group inside the CIA. The United States will be discredited, and our joint operations with our allies could be set back years. If our intercepts are correct, those attacks could begin at any moment. So you see why we had to bring you in now. You were shadowing Sophia quite closely when the foundation for these attacks was laid. Better than anyone, you should be able to spot those who might have seemed to be innocently interacting with her, but were part of her cell."

"We need to take down the Russian operation now, or it will be too late." Dour Face adds.

"So where do I come in?" Kate queries.

As Mr. Castle's new wife, in addition to his well-publicized muse, your presence will make any of his movements seem less remarkable. And you and Sophia had some, uh, interesting conversations while you were here," Dour Face adds. "Something that seemed unimportant at the time may come to you. If nothing else, you'll serve as a second pair of trained eyes."

"And what will be our excuse for not showing up in The Maldives?" Rick wonders.

"Oh that," Dour Face responds, "A terrorist madman sabotaged your plane. Had you not been prevented from taking off, it would have exploded. A beloved author and his new bride would have been lost to the world forever."

"Seriously?" Castle asks.

"No," Danberg confides. "But it makes a good story and gives you a reason to remain stateside until the matter is resolved. I'm sorry that the timing is so bad, but help us with this and you'll get your honeymoon. The Company may even find you a better place than the private island you chose."

"That island was recently invaded by mosquitoes carrying Dengue fever," Dour Face adds. "We probably did you a favor in keeping you away."


	2. Chapter 2

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 2

"I thought we'd just pulled Castle in to identify members of Turner's cell. You're putting him and his wife out there as bait," Agent Danberg accuses.

Dour faced Director Francis smacks a thin file in front of Danberg. "This is it! This is all we have and time is running out if it hasn't already. We have to draw the vermin out of their holes, and you know as well as I do that in this business you have to sacrifice a pawn or two now and then."

"You could at least give them some protection," Danberg insists.

"And how would I do that without compromising the operation? Our people would be recognized, if you will excuse the obvious, in a New York second. Castle has been an outsider for years and an object of amusement given the wild improbability of his Derrick Storm scenarios. Who the f**k presses that much weight and only drives Fords?"

"Obviously you read Castle's books," Danberg points out.

"As I said, amusing. No one here would be too concerned about him - except for the imbeds we're trying to flush out."

"What about Castle's wife? Do you have to put her in the crosshairs too?"

"I wouldn't have if our guys hadn't fumbled the ball and let those two get married. But it would be suspicious if newlyweds weren't keeping close company. This is the way it has to be, Danberg, whether you like it or not."

* * *

Kate gazes around the trendy coffee shop. "Is this the way you remember this place?"

Castle swallows a sip of his pumpkin spice latte. "Hardly. When Sophia brought me here, it didn't even have Wi-Fi. People were reading newspapers, not their phones. And the big questions about the coffee were whether you wanted light or dark roast and if you took cream and sugar. Occasionally someone would even strum a guitar or give out with spontaneous poetry. Now it's all electronic amusements."

"I thought you like electronic amusements."

"In their place," Castle admits, "like when you're busy doing paperwork. But," he continues, stroking her leg beneath the table, there is much to be said for a more human touch - which we would be giving each other now if our plane had taken off a moment sooner."

Kate rolls her eyes. "Don't remind me, but if the country needs protecting, it is our duty, Babe."

"I just wish it was our duty a few weeks later. And I don't see anyone - wait." Taking her hands, Rick leans across the table as if to whisper endearments in Kate's ear. "You see that redhead who just came in? She could be the sister of Yuri Deripaska. And I think I remember seeing her talking to him when I was here with Sophia - younger of course, but the same woman." Castle taps a button on his shirt, activating a camera. "I hope our watchers are getting this."

* * *

Danberg regards the image on a tablet. "That's Maria Collins."

"The senior analyst in Farragut's meteorology group?" Francis inquires.

"Right," Danberg confirms. "She came to work for the Company right out of graduate school, around the same time Turner did, but I don't recall them having any assignments in common."

Francis strokes the rough stubble forming on his jawline. "Any connection would have been indirect. Collins would have been involved in predicting the best time for Turner to carry out some of her missions, but that wouldn't have required direct contact."

"Maybe her appearance at the coffee house is a coincidence," Danberg suggests.

Francis rakes his fingers through his gray locks. "You know as well as I do, Danberg, that in the trade, there are very few coincidences."

* * *

It takes Maria a moment to place Castle. She recalls Yuri mentioning him as Sophia's pet and had picked up one of his books out of curiosity. Stupid pulpish nonsense, as far as Maria was concerned, but Storm had a sexiness to him. The author does as well, but what the hell is he doing here having coffee? According to a news report, he and his new detective wife narrowly escaped being blown up in a plane on the way to their honeymoon. They should be curled up together somewhere comforting each other, not in a midtown millennial mecca.

That they are at a drop for her cell, reeks of company business. Maria is aware that chatter about the present operation, the culmination of over a decade of effort, has been flying. It's also been evident through the grapevine that Francis is desperate for something more than chatter. Does he expect Richard Castle to deliver it?

It was apparent to Yuri that when Castle was playing puppy dog trailing after Sophia, that she was more than a mentor. What secrets did he pick up? Did he have a clue as to the import of this place?

With the operation on final countdown, Maria can't chance any last-minute revelations. Castle and his wife will have to be taken out - after she finds out what, if anything, they know. She'll call in a team to take care of the job.

* * *

"If I drink any more coffee, I'm going to slosh," Castle declares.

"Same here," Kate confesses. "The redhead you saw took her coffee and left. Hopefully, the company received your feed. It will look suspicious if we keep sitting here. I could use a pee and then maybe a walk or something."

"With you on both counts. Use the facilities and meet outside?" Castle proposes.

"Sounds good."

Kate leans on Rick's shoulder as they stroll down the sidewalk together. "One thing I've always liked about New York is the walking."

"You're wearing more sensible shoes for it than you usually do," Rick notes. "Did you pack any of your terribly impractical but incredibly sexy spikes for our honeymoon?"

"I did, but I wasn't planning on walking in them."

Rick draws her more tightly against his side. "Ah, the best is yet to come. I can't wait."

"That makes two of us."

"We can make another circuit and then we should probably report in for debriefing," Castle decides. "Not that there's much to debrief. I hope the images I transmitted of that woman are enough for some brilliant mind in the Company to go on."

"I hope so too," Kate agrees, "but I wouldn't put any money on it."

"Do you have them in sight?" Maria queries her team leader, Oleg Yelich.

"Spotted and targeted for capture," Oleg's reply comes through the speaker on her phone. "I have people on both sides of them and a vehicle in place for transport."

"Very good," Maria acknowledges. "I'll meet you at our base in sector eight."

As Rick and Kate pass wooden fencing around a construction site, two men with guns jump out from behind the boards while two others spring from a van parked on the street. Kate automatically reaches for a weapon that isn't there while Rick struggles against the crushing hold his captors have on his arms. Rick and Kate go limp as one of the attackers sprays a mist in their faces, and their unconscious bodies are shoved in the rear of the van.

"It's going down." Director Francis, his assistant reports. "The tracking device we planted on Castle puts out a strong signal when we ping it."

Francis nods. "Good, with any luck, we'll discover where the vipers make their nest."


	3. Chapter 3

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 3

The last thing Rick's eyes want to do is open. His head is pounding, and the light impinging on his eyelids compounds the pain. The metallic taste in his mouth isn't pleasant either, and he can feel something cutting into his wrists. But if he is in this condition, Kate may be too - or worse. He forces his eyelids to lift and slowly turns his head. His wife is beside him, strapped as he is to a stout chair, but no one else is in the room. Whoever grabbed them must not have expected them to be awake yet. "Kate, are you all right?"

The seconds before she answers are agonizing. "Depends on your definition of all right. I'm alive, but if someone doesn't give me an aspirin soon, I may rethink wanting to be."

"I know the feeling," Rick commiserates." But at least the thugs who grabbed us didn't seem to break anything. At least not yet."

"I kicked one of them before he sprayed us. He cursed in Russian."

"No surprise there. Looks like we stumbled into the hornets' nest."

"Or the CIA had us into walk into one. It seems to be standard operating procedure. Sophia sent us to find Blakely so she could kill him. Your father sent us to draw out Gemini so he could take him down. It looks like Danberg's boss set us up as bait for the former Soviets."

"Other than the organization involved, those other two events had something in common," Castle points out. "In both cases, we were being tracked. Sophia did it through the phones she gave us, and my father planted a transmitter on me. If the company is following suit, we might be putting out a signal somehow."

"The Russians must have scanned us for bugs, wouldn't they detect it?"

"Only if it was active when they scanned. I researched trackers for one of my books. Active devices have their own power source and put out a signal all the time. They're easy to follow, but they're also easy to detect. Then there are passive devices that have no power of their own but are turned on by an electromagnetic beam from an outside source.

"Passive devices are much smaller and easier to conceal. Someone could have put one on either of us while they were shoving us around and we might not even feel it. Or they could have put something in our food, but that would stay around for a limited length of time, and as far as I know, neither one of us is prone to constipation."

"Thanks for the mental image, Babe. But from what you said, if the CIA is using a passive device, someone would have to get close to activate it and stay nearby to track us."

"Right," Castle agrees, "which means they could have been just in range of the coffee shop and stayed just in range to follow us to wherever we are."

"How close would they have to be?"

"I have no idea. The CIA doesn't post that kind of information anywhere searchable with Google."

Maria Collins listens with satisfaction to the conversation between Richard Castle and his wife. Of course, Francis would have planted a transponder on the author, and possibly on his wife too. Agents might even have trailed them to the general area. The industrial park where the cell headquarters is located is dense with structures, and the room where she's holding the prisoners is within a Faraday cage. The company boys won't be getting any signals, either from a tracker or the button camera she found on Castle.

The question is, what did that camera send out before her men grabbed the couple. If it was Maria's image, then her cover is blown. She'll enjoy prying that information out of Castle. She doubts that she'll even have to use pain or drugs. Threatening his new wife with either should do the trick nicely. In any case, the Company will be no closer to stopping the plan that's in motion. She's already transmitted everything the operatives around the world need to know. When she's assured herself that everything is going as it should, she can use her escape route to Moscow. She imagines that she'll be rewarded with a senior position in the Kremlin and a nice _dacha_ for her long service.

* * *

Agent Jones taps uselessly on his receiver. "F**k!"

"What's the matter?" Agent Morris asks, biting into the bagel he stowed in his pocket in anticipation of an extended stakeout.

"The signal has completely disappeared. I had one when we were driving around the buildings in this cluster, but now I have nothing."

"Maybe we're just not close enough," Morris suggests. "Drive around again and see if you pick it up."

Jones shakes his head. "It's not like it weakened gradually and faded out. It was strong the last time I activated it, and now there isn't the tiniest blip."

"Does that thing need new batteries?" Morris asks. "There's a pack of them in the glove compartment."

"The power light is on. I'll drive around again, but if I don't pick up something fast, we're in deep sh*t."

* * *

Maria tilts her head, smiling at her captives. "Richard Castle, Kate Beckett."

"Beckett-Castle," Kate mutters.

"Yes, that's right," Maria acknowledges. "The writer and his muse tied the knot. How very sweet. So why aren't you on your honeymoon? Don't bother with the story about your plane almost blowing up. You could have chartered another one or gotten yourselves a VIP suite at the Four Seasons. The one thing you would not have been doing after a shakeup like that is casually sitting in a coffee shop nowhere near the airport, or where you live or work. So what were you doing there?"

"Would you believe they have the best Arabica in the city?" Castle asks.

Maria shrugs. "I'm a fan of Robusta myself, but I've had the Arabica there, so no, I wouldn't. Care to try again?"

"Not really," Castle answers.

"Hon, I think you've been found out," Kate interjects. "You really should come clean about," she pauses to draw a deep breath, "it."

"I can't tell her about that," Castle argues. "That's private between you and me."

"I think you'll have to," Kate insists, "or, never mind. I'll tell her. Rick has a thing. He broke up with someone at that coffee shop, but it turned out it was all for the better. Anyway, whenever anything traumatic happens, he thinks he has to go back there and get coffee or events will never turn out right again."

Maria snorts, a fleck of saliva landing at the corner of her mouth. "You expect me to believe that kind of superstitious nonsense?"

"I was hoping," Castle replies.

"I'm afraid I have to dash your hopes," Maria responds her expression a mockery of sympathy. "I will find out the truth. And by the way, if you believe that any moment what you regard as the good guys will come busting through the door in a heroic rescue, you can forget it. Any signals not flowing over a hard-wired connection in or out of this room are blocked. You are mine to do with as I wish. And," she continues, grabbing a knife from a sheath at the small of her back, "I wish to start with the newly minted Mrs. Beckett-Castle."


	4. Chapter 4

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 4

Jones shakes his head, staring at his signal-free screen. "We need to go at this another way."

"What way?" Morris questions. "We couldn't get a signal. There must be hundreds of businesses in this complex and thousands of people. How do we pin them down in all that?"

"The signal's being blocked somehow, right?"

"Unless the Russians found the transponder and destroyed it."

"Not likely, where the director said it was."

Morris grimaces. "I don't need that picture. But if it is blocked, we have nothing to home in on."

"Maybe we do. You ever carve a pumpkin?"

"What? You should eat my other bagel. I think your brain is starved."

"No, seriously," Jones insists. "Carving a pumpkin, or anything really, is subtractive. It's all about what isn't there. So we ask the director to get the satellites to look for something that isn't there, a dead zone where there are no radio signals coming out, but there are bodies in the infrared. That's where they'll have to be."

"It's worth a shot, Morris agrees, but you're going to be the one who calls him."

"On it right now," Jones agrees.

* * *

Maria waves her knife in front of Castle's face before slipping behind Kate's chair. She skims the blade lightly over the skin of Kate's neck, leaving a thin scarlet line. "What's it going to be, Mr. Castle, will you tell me what I want to know, or do I cut deeper?"

"Don't!" Castle begs. "Please. I don't know anything. The company just wanted me to tell them about who I saw over 10 years ago. I never even met you, then."

Maria positions her knife a fraction of an inch above Kate's jugular. "Then why were you wearing a camera? I checked. It had been activated. Big Brother was watching, wasn't he? Whose picture did you send off to Francis?"

Castle's teeth find the inside of his lower lip, biting hard. As his hands tighten on the wooden arms of his massive chair, he hears a creak. Maybe – just maybe. "All right, you've probably guessed anyway. I sent video of you. No matter what you do now, they know who you are, and they will find you."

A smile oils Maria's lips as she moves between Rick and Kate. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Now I can use a less messy way to kill the two of you. It's a bitch to clean up blood."

Castle takes a deep breath, throwing all his weight sideways. His chair tips, catching Maria and knocking her down, while the arm that hits the floor, splinters just enough for Castle to wrench his hand free of its leather binding. He grabs for the knife jarred loose from his captor's fingers as her head banged against unyielding cement, then checks Maria for signs of life. Breathing but stunned. After unbuckling his other hand, he frees Kate. Together, they put Maria where Kate had been imprisoned a moment before.

Kate pulls the straps as tight as she can, and lifts Maria's eyelids. "Uneven pupils. You probably gave her a concussion. But we've still got to get out of here before she wakes up."

Castle checks the door. "Locked."

"There's a keypad," Kate notes, "but there could be thousands of combinations."

Castle snaps his fingers before punching in one, nine, eight, and four. The lock clicks open.

"How did you know?" Kate whispers, cautiously cracking the door just enough to check for guards beyond it. "Nineteen eighty-four," Castle replies, following Kate into an empty hallway. "Ms. Knife-Happy back there talked about 'Big Brother.' I had a hunch."

"Remind me to give my copy a place of honor on my bookshelf, but right now we need to find a way out of here."

Castle points down at the bare concrete beneath their feet. "This is a ground floor or a basement. There has to be either a door or a staircase somewhere around here, preferably unguarded."

"I wouldn't put money on that last part. Babe, do you hear that?"

"Sounds like an army descending on us. Maybe we can duck back in the room where we came from."

"Too late," Kate says as two men appear, carrying AR-15 rifles.

"Mr. Castle? Ms. Beckett?" Agent Jones inquires.

"Beckett-Castle," Rick corrects.

"We're here to rescue you," Morris explains.

Rick turns to Kate. "Better late than never."

* * *

"You get anything out of Collins?" Francis queries Danberg.

"Only that we are wasting our time and that we can't stop what's already in motion," Danberg answers grimly. "But we still have people working on her, and the four men who were captured in the building where we found the Beckett-Castles."

"Did you search the place?" Francis presses.

"Jones and Morris found computers, but everything was encrypted. We have techs going over them now, but our people have no idea how long it's going to take, and they may not find much. That building didn't look like a center of operations - not enough personnel or equipment."

"Get Castle and Beckett - or whatever they want to call themselves - in an interrogation room. I want to talk to them now."

* * *

"Go over it again," Francis demands, "everything that happened from the moment you saw Maria Collins."

"I take it you're referring to the knife-wielding redhead," Rick assumes, continuing as Dour Face nods. "She came into the coffee shop. I thought I recognized her, and I activated the camera. She put in her order, talking with the barista for a minute or two. Then she picked up her coffee and left. Kate and I went to the restrooms, met outside, and took a walk. When we were passing by a construction site, men grabbed us and sprayed something in our faces. After that, I couldn't move, and things got fuzzier until I passed out."

Francis holds up a hand. "Back up. You didn't lose consciousness immediately?"

Rick starts to shake his head and thinks better of it as the dregs of the aftereffects of the drug, beat at his temples. "No, I remember that Kate and I were tossed in a van that was at the curb."

"The van was white, and the men were speaking in Russian," Kate adds. "I had a semester in Russia, so I caught some of it. The driver said 'base in sector eight.'"

"So they have at least eight sectors," Francis concludes. "Not good."

"Oh," Rick suddenly recalls. "There was something oily on the floor of the van. I got some of it on my pants." He points to a stain on the right leg of his slacks.

Francis gestures and a tech rushes into the room. "Get Mr. Castle's pants up to the lab. I want an analysis of that stain - yesterday."

Rick slips out of the garment and hands it to the tech. "Not that I mind lounging around in my boxers, but I prefer to do it with somewhat less observation. Any chance I can retrieve more pants from my luggage?"

"I'll give you 10 minutes," Francis allows, "and then we'll continue your debriefing."

"Roger that," Rick agrees. "One quick change coming up, but I don't think we have anything left to tell you."

"We'll see," Francis replies. "We have many methods to stimulate memory."

As an agent motions him out of the room, apprehension twists in Rick's gut.


	5. Chapter 5

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 5

"Where's Kate?" Rick asks as his escort delivers him to a chair in a different room than the one he left.

"We won't need her for this," Francis announces, "we're going to delve deeper than your latest adventure." He nods to a woman in a white lab coat. "You can begin now."

She pulls a hypodermic from a drawer and fills it from a vial labeled only with a code. Rick looks on warily as she expels the air bubbles. "What's that?"

Francis' face unsuccessfully attempts to force itself into a reassuring smile. "Nothing to worry about. Just something to help you remember buried details."

"Truth serum?' Rick queries.

"Not precisely. A special company blend," Francis replies. "It does have a bit of a kick to it."

"How much of a kick?"

"Nothing to worry about, sir," The white-coated young woman assures him. "There's less than a 1% chance of brain damage. I'm afraid you'll have to open your hand for me," she apologizes as Rick's fisted knuckles whiten.

Rick flinches at the burn as the liquid enters his veins. The room slowly fades, and Francis's voice comes to him as he floats in a dreamscape. "Remember back to your first mission with Sophia Turner. What do you see?"

"Central Park, benches. There aren't any children; it's a school day. But there's a man sailing a toy boat on the pond. Sophia looks at him, and he does something with his hands, like sign language, but nothing I recognize from Sesame Street."

"Show me the motions," Francis instructs.

"Like this," Castle responds, imitating the gestures he sees in his mind. "Then Sophia nodded at him and told me to join her on a bench. We waited there until another man came and threw a newspaper in the trash can. After he left, Sophia told me to get it. It had mustard on it from someone's old hot dog. I wanted to go wash my hands, but Sophia put it in a bag and told me that we had to leave. Then she put a black hood on me while we returned to operations. I could feel the descent in the elevator. After that, she handed the paper to someone. He looked Asian and had a mole near his left eye. Sophia finally let me wash my hands. Then she took me into the break room for lunch. We had pastrami sandwiches, but they weren't as good as the ones from Katz's and the coleslaw was soggy."

"Never Mind the food," Francis commands. "Tell me about the next mission."

Rick unconsciously scratches his neck. "We were at the docks, near warehouses. There was a breeze from the water. I was wearing a fisherman sweater Mother brought back when she did a tour in Norway. It itched. Sophia said we were meeting someone who was coming in a boat, but he didn't show up right away, and we were waiting near one of the warehouses. A couple of guys drove up in a gray pickup truck."

"Did you see the license plate?" Francis questions.

"JMJ 6033. They started moving boxes with a forklift. Then one of them looked at Sophia, and he did this." Rick's hands move in a series of signs. "Sophia fastened the top button on her cardigan. It was red. Then we talked about wine until the boat came. She said she liked Bordeaux. After she met the boat, she said she had something she had to do without me and sent me home.

"I had to finish the book I was working on, so I didn't see her for a few weeks. I missed her. But the next time I saw her, she kept showing me her palm, and she rubbed against me a couple of times. She was wearing perfume, too. She'd never done that before. I was pretty sure she wanted to have sex with me."

"And did you have sex with her?" Francis asked.

"Not right away. There were other agents on the missions with us. We didn't have a chance to be alone, but she kept giving me the signals. And then we were watching a Russian who came to show his dog at a competition. We hid in a utility closet under some stairs during the judging. I kept thinking about Audrey Hepburn and Peter O'Toole in 'How to Steal a Million.' There wasn't much room but…"

"I don't need the details of that," Francis interrupts. "Did Sophia talk to the Russian?"

"When we came out of the closet, his dog was wearing a blue ribbon, and Sophia said she was going to congratulate him. I don't know what they actually talked about. She'd put a few love scratches on me, and I went to the bathroom to clean up. But when I came back, I noticed she had a paper that she didn't have before, in her pocket."

"Director," that's as long as he should be under at one time," the woman in the lab coat cautions. "He needs to rest for at least two hours and get over the side effects before I can give him another dose."

"Very well," Francis agrees. "Give him the neutralizer and have someone take him upstairs to his wife. I need to find out what the analysts can tell me about those gestures, and get results from the lab, but right now, every minute may count."

* * *

Kate dampens a towel as Rick pushes himself up from the bowl of the toilet. "Are you OK, Babe? That's the third time."

Rick wipes his face. "Maybe. I doubt if I have anything left to hurl. I didn't think this is what Dour Face meant by a kick. He could have been more specific. He probably classed it under the category of 'need to know.' The strange thing, Kate, is that I remember everything I told him, but I don't know any more than I did before. Hopefully, some genius around here can figure it out."

"You want to lie down?" Kate asks. "You still look rocky."

"There's not much room on the prison issue bed the Company used to furnish this place, but could you lie with me?"

"Anytime, anyplace, Babe."

* * *

"What was in that stain on Castle's pants?" Francis demands of his laboratory head."

"That was a weird one, Chief, McCluskey reports. The first pass looked like fish oil, but when we narrowed it down with the master library, it came from an octopus."

"An octopus," Francis repeats. "Where would an octopus come from?"

McCluskey shrugs, throwing up his hands. "You've got me. Maybe the Fulton Fish Market, but not too many other places in New York."

"A boat and a warehouse by the docks," Francis mutters to himself. "The computer guys better be able to make a connection - and fast."

* * *

Kate snuggles into Rick's side, just avoiding hanging over the edge of what passes for a mattress. Feeling better, Babe?"

"More or less. As a novelist, I like to think I'm observant, but I'm learning there are a lot of details that just don't register on my mind as worth recalling. Some of the things that came out with the drug, I never gave a second thought."

"But you do notice little things, probably more than I do, like when someone is trying to cover up a bout with cancer, or how bows are tied. And you notice stuff about me too. You know just where to put your finger to - well you know."

"And if I wasn't afraid of upchucking again and sure that we're under surveillance, I might even try to do something about that. But when we finally make it to our honeymoon, we'll have time. At least I hope so."


	6. Chapter 6

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 6

"Sir," Analyst Tran reports, "we've identified the hand signals that Castle saw. They're Russian sign language or at least a dialect of it."

"So what's the translation?" Francis demands.

"We're having trouble with that, Sir. There are many forms of Russian signs. There's an official type used on broadcasts, there's one that's used in everyday conversation, and there is one that translators use, that is largely outdated. The various regions of the old Soviet Union have their own dialects, and there was one exported to Bulgaria that's morphed into a completely different language. Also, the current regime cut down on the number of translators permitted to operate in Russia. It's now less than a thousand. As yet we haven't turned any of those."

"Damn, it, Tran! There must be someone who can understand it if Turner and her contacts did."

"Yes, Sir. We've contacted Langley. They believe they have someone in the field that can, but that operative is on 12-hour check-in and otherwise unreachable. We have about four hours to go."

"Turner must have learned it somehow," Francis muses, "but as a sleeper agent, the history we had for her was a very skillfully created legend. It's a longshot, but maybe she dropped something to Castle about it. From what I understand about the time he spent shadowing her, he never stopped asking questions."

With Kate in his arms, Castle is on the edge of sleep, when the agent who delivered him to his quarters walks in, snapping him to full awareness. "Mr. Castle, the director, needs to talk to you again, right now."

Reluctantly Castle rises from the bed. "More drugs?"

Kate springs to her feet. "Haven't you made him sick enough already?"

"It's not my choice, Ma'am, and I'm afraid it's not his either. The director is doing what he feels is best for this country."

Rick reaches out to squeeze Kate's hand. "I'll be all right." Rick's guide ushers him back to an interrogation room, where Francis is waiting and closes the door behind him as he leaves Rick there. "What, no magic needle?"

"I'll have you injected again if it proves to be necessary," Francis responds, "but you may be able to tell me what I need to know right now, without chemical assistance. Did Sophia ever say anything to you about language for the deaf, or anyone who was deaf; maybe in a private moment?"

Castle closes his eyes, letting images of the time he and Sophia spent together outside of the job run through his mind until something strikes a chord. He was on the final sentence of a chapter, struggling to get the wording right when Sophia rebuked him for not responding to a question from her. "Honestly, Rick, sometimes you act as deaf as my grandmother."

"Unless she made that up too, I think her grandmother might have been hearing impaired," he tells Francis.

"So if Sophia used signs, they might have been older ones?" Francis gathers.

Castle shrugs. "Considering how much she lied about everything else, who knows? But it's possible."

"That gives us something to work with, anyway."

* * *

Kate paces the room waiting for Rick to return. He's accepting what the Company is doing to him a lot better than she is. Penance for having fallen into bed with a Russian sleeper agent? Hell, that wasn't as bad as her drunken marriage to Rogan O'Leary. Sophia was trained as a professional liar, who also fooled the CIA. An amateur duped Kate.

Kate and Rick collide rather than embrace as she throws her arms around him when he returns sooner than she expected. He presses his lips to the top of her head. "Hey, I'm fine. And I might even have helped. Dour Face looked a little less dour. And the agent who brought me back up here said he'd be sending some food up in a little while. I hope it's not pastrami sandwiches."

"Too hard on a queasy stomach?"

"No. Just local history. Not important now. I'm not sure, but I got the vibe downstairs that they might be starting to get a handle on the Russian operation. If the valiant agents can scuttle the deadly plot, maybe they'll let us out of here."

Kate rolls her eyes. "Valiant agents, my ass. Maybe Danberg, but the last time there was a deadly plot, the rest of them needed you to help unravel it. Without you, they never would have figured out who the linchpin was."

"You helped with that too, but I got the feeling that when you and Sophia were exchanging notes, she crafted some lies for you as well."

Kate leads Rick toward the bed and sits beside him. "She may have. She told me that once you slept together, and the longing was gone, there was nothing left to your relationship."

"And you took that as a warning?"

"I guess I did," Kate confesses. "At least at the time. We hadn't slept together yet, and I had no idea how much could come afterward. And Meredith also came at me with her brand of manipulation. That didn't help."

"I should have had better taste in women. Although without Meredith I wouldn't have Alexis. Still," he murmurs, pulling Kate into his lap, "I finally got it right. You are the love of my life." He gazes around trying to figure out where a camera might be and focuses on a pinhole in one wall. "And despite what the Company wanted, we did get married, and whatever it takes we are going to have our honeymoon and our life together."

* * *

Analyst Tran, accompanied by Agent Danberg raps on the partially open door of Francis' office. "Sir, we have the list of sources of octopi cross-referenced with boats and the warehouses at the docks that you requested. There are five of them. Three were in existence during Turner's time at the Company."

"Do you want me to reach out to the FBI to get warrants to search domestic facilities?" Danberg inquires.

"I'll call Comey myself, but we can get started faster than that. Take Castle around to the three locations that were there in Turner's time. He may recognize one of them. And take the wife too. He'll be easier to handle if she's along - protecting the country for the sake of their future together and all that. Do we have anyone for the Russian sign language yet?"

"One of the scientists who defected during the eighties is hearing-impaired and used the Russian version of sign language before she learned ASL, Sir," Tran replies.

"She's not very mobile and lives in New Jersey, but I sent Jones and Morrison to get her," Danberg adds. "Best ETA 90 minutes."

"Couldn't they use a helicopter?"

"Apparently not. She has some sort of breathing difficulties that don't allow her to fly. But Jones will be flooring it, sir."

"I would damn well hope so. You move it too. I want you on the road with Castle and his wife five minutes ago."

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

"What is it with spies and docks?" Castle wonders out loud, as Danberg drives toward the ocean. "Kate and I were dumped into the water at a dock. What would be wrong with setting up shop at a fine dining restaurant or ooh, the zoo?"

"We do have a restaurant, but I don't think that you'd class it as fine dining," Danberg confides.

"Where?" Castle asks.

"If I told you I'd have to kill you," Danberg replies, "if the food didn't do it first."

Rick lifts an eyebrow. "Agent Danberg, I believe that's the first thing resembling humor I've heard from a CIA agent - except for something about a nose lighting up."

"I don't get the reference," Danberg admits, "but even under the director, we do have our moments."


	7. Chapter 7

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 7

Ekaterina Kasparova jams a loose hairpin back into her coronet of white braids as she studies the video of the signs Castle demonstrated while under the influence of a Company hypo. Her age-spotted hand moves quickly over a legal pad as she transcribes what she sees.

Francis takes the tablet the moment she finishes. "Cell five, Boodeg, complete. Cell eight, Algarve, complete, Cell 10, Copenhagen, complete. Portugal. Denmark. Dear God! They may have infested every country in Europe! Where the hell is Doonbeg?"

"West Coast of Ireland, sir," Tran replies, his fingers flying over the keyboard at his station. "Not much there but a golf course, pubs, and a few hotels. A river flows from the village to the sea. Boats could get in and out."

Francis strokes the stubble rapidly becoming a tough gray bristle on his chin. "A staging ground, perhaps, but for what?"

"Sir, they're all tourist destinations," Tran points out.

"So it would be relatively easy for operatives to masquerade as friendly visitors," Francis realizes. "They wouldn't even need a perfect command or any command of the language. This just keeps getting worse. The strike teams will probably arrive by water and could land at any unguarded spot along a coast. To have a prayer of heading this off, I'll have to tell Brennan to get Clapper to coordinate with every ally we've got."

* * *

Danberg pulls into a parking area 100 yards from a warehouse and hands Rick a pair of enhanced binoculars. "This is the last one on my list. Does it look familiar?"

Rick studies the loading area. "Maybe. If this is where I was with Sophia, I was looking at it from another angle. The wind was off the water and blowing my hair on the left side."

Danberg starts the car again. "We'll try the other lot."

"This is it!" Rick exclaims as Danberg parks again. "When the two guys from the pickup had boxes on the forklift, one of the tines scraped the opening into the building. The gouge is still there."

Danberg picks up his phone. "I'll call a team in. The director should have the FBI on board by now. If he doesn't, he'll send in our own guys and apologize later."

"I wasn't aware that the company apologized at all," Kate says.

One corner of Danberg's mouth twitches a fraction of an inch upward. "Apologies are classified."

"Do we get to watch?" Rick queries.

"If you're spotted, we'd be giving you away as a source. Sorry."

"Ah!" Rick declares. "An apology!"

* * *

"What was in that warehouse?" Francis demands.

Team leader Hurd consults his tablet. "We found 12 cases of octopus in a freezer, also 20 pallets of black tea and 40 pallets of Levi's 501 jeans. The pants are all being examined for messages hidden in the fabric. We also discovered a shielded communications center with six computers and 45 backup drives."

"You could have led with that," Francis interrupts impatiently.

"Yes, Sir. The techs are going through the data as quickly as possible."

"There are some Israelis in town that may be able to speed that along," Francis notes to a lieutenant at his elbow. "Turing had a nephew who's supposed to have picked up the family talent for decryption. At last report, he was working out of the U.K. Embassy. Find him and get him on this too. And get anyone from Langley who can help, up here."

* * *

"What are you doing?" Kate asks as Rick runs a wad of toilet paper from the small bathroom that adjoins their room, under a light stream of water in the sink.

He presses the damp paper to the wall over the pinhole he'd spotted. "Giving us some privacy, I hope. Don't tell me that the rebel Kate Beckett never sent sub-standard wiping materials skyward to find a ceiling perch in a girl's restroom or two?"

"They had the good stuff at Stuy. I may have, a time or two in the lower grades, but I was interested in more creative escapades," Kate admits, fluttering her eyelashes.

Rick plops on the bed. "This, I've got to hear. What did little Katie Beckett do to spread chaos?"

"Well," Kate explains, cuddling up beside him, "my fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Ludlow, was always complaining that the casters on her desk chair squeaked. The custodian, Mr. Pinter, oiled them five times, but she still wasn't happy, so he got her a wooden chair. But when she didn't have the squeak to complain about anymore, she started picking on kids for not sitting up straight enough or writing with a color ink she didn't like. So I snuck in during lunch and used a nail file to take just enough wood off one of her chair legs so that the whole thing would rock when she sat in it. Drove her crazy.

"But the best one was in Mrs. Morrison's class in seventh grade. She had passes she made for the bathroom, blue for boys, pink for girls. I managed to swipe a couple of them and soaked them in a solution that changes color, that I got from Drake's.

"A thermochromic dye."

"I guess. The box just said, 'Shades of Magic.' The pink passes turned blue when the girls held them in their hands, and they kept telling Mrs. Morrison that she gave them the wrong ones. Morrison finally gave up and made all the passes unisex."

Grinning, Rick applauds. "As well she should have. No reason to limit the opportunity to relieve one's self by gender."

Kate runs her fingers down his thigh. "I agree." She points at the paper blocking the hole. "That seems to be sticking pretty well, but that opening might not be for a camera, or they might have another one."

"I think, perhaps, any observers might be more productively occupied right now than spying on a man and wife so cruelly kept from their honeymoon," Castle muses.

Kate wraps her arms around his neck. "I would hope so. But we are going to have to be careful on this bed."

"Or we could put the mattress on the floor," Rick proposes, "Not as far to fall."

"That would work."

They lift the thin pad together, revealing a silvery disk between the metal slats beneath it. Rick shakes his head. "Bugging our bed. Now that's just rude!"

Kate pulls the disk free and drops it in the tank of the toilet. "They should hear lots of interesting sounds from there."

"Katie Beckett strikes again," Rick announces, raising his hand for a high-five, "but are you ready to shift to a more adult mode?"

"I'm getting there," Kate purrs, reaching for the buckle on the belt on his tropical-weight slacks.

Rick slips the strap of her sundress from her shoulder and samples the flesh beneath. "Whenever the lady is ready."

"Right now, the last thing I feel like doing is acting like is a lady," Kate proclaims, settling herself on the mattress.

Rick lowers himself, his arms supporting his weight just above her, and brings his lips within a whisper of hers. "I'm looking forward to experiencing your misbehavior firsthand."

Rounding her lips with the tip of her tongue, Kate tugs at Rick's waistband. "What I have in mind involves a lot more than hands."

"Then, by all means, Ms. Beckett-Castle, please proceed.

Driven by too-long suppressed need, their lips meet in an explosion of heat.

A/N A guest informed me that the term "hearing-impaired" is unacceptable to many in the deaf community. I apologize for offending anyone. My intention was just the opposite.


	8. Chapter 8

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 8

"Did you get anything out of Collins or the men we picked up with her?" Francis presses Danberg.

"Nothing we didn't know, Sir, either from intelligence or what the techs have been able to pull from the computers and drives so far. The operation is highly partitioned. The cells are performing their functions, but contact is limited. As far as we can tell, none of the Russian assets in the United States has met any of the operatives abroad. They communicate by code numbers."

"We must have hacked into their communications by now."

"Some, sir. We know approximately when and in which areas the operatives will be staging attacks, but we have no means of recognizing them."

"Sophia Turner knew other Russian agents."

"Yes, she did Sir, but that was over a decade ago. The hostiles have put extra safeguards in place since then. If they bumped into each other on the street, they wouldn't know it."

"But Castle might recognize someone," Francis realizes. "Which of the sites we've identified in Europe contains the most potential targets within the tightest radius?"

"Copenhagen, Sir."

"I want Castle on a transport to Copenhagen, as soon as you can get the wheels off the tarmac. He's the only friendly we know was with Turner when she met with anyone who might have been involved in this operation."

"His wife too?"

"He's less likely to be restless if she's along. Send her with him."

"It's one hell of a longshot, Sir."

"No one knows that better than I do, Danberg, but we can only play the cards that are in our hand."

* * *

"Are you whistling 'Wonderful Copenhagen?'" Kate asks as she squirms, trying to get comfortable in the netting that serves as a seat in the supersonic transport ferrying them to Scandinavia. "Have you been there before?"

"Uh-huh. When Alexis was five, she watched the video of "The Little Mermaid. She fell in love with it. Then I took her to the United Nations, and in the gift shop, there was a set of tiny books, the stories of Hans Christian Andersen. Whenever she's asked me for books, even miniature ones, I've always been happy to get them for her. What could be more important than loving the written word - especially in my family? The topper came when she watched the movie about Hans Christian Andersen. That's when I heard the song. Anyway, she begged and pleaded to go to Copenhagen when school was out."

Kate rolls her eyes. "And old softy that you are, you took her."

"By that time, I wanted to see the city of Spires too. It's beautiful, Kate. Centuries of history, practically adjacent to each other, like walking through the worlds at Disneyland - only real. Alexis spent at least a half-hour staring at the statue of The Little Mermaid. We went to Tivoli Garden, the Round Tower, which was mentioned in 'The Tinderbox,' and the National Museum, and had a great time. I remember the city very fondly, and I'd hate to see it hit by terrorists. I want to do whatever I can to stop it."

"I know you do, Babe, but I don't know how Director Francis expects you to pick a face you saw years ago out of hordes of tourists. Where are we even supposed to start?"

"The Company expects a strike where it can do the most damage. From what I understand, it's working with the Danish authorities on a list. We'll go where they send us, but I expect wherever that is, will be a tourist attraction. Hitting one of those would wreak the most havoc. It's not exactly what I had in mind for a honeymoon, but we'll be together, and maybe we'll get lucky like we did with the dirty bomb in New York."

"I hope so, Babe. And this time I won't be going home with another guy."

"Good, to know."

* * *

"Why does the Company want us on a cruise ship?" Kate wonders.

"Because there are so many travelers from multiple countries, together not far from industrial activity. If terrorists hit it, there will be casualties from all over the world and disruptions in commerce as well. For once, I totally agree with the Company. It would be a perfect spot for launching a reign of terror," Rick explains.

"So what's our excuse for being there?"

"We're honeymooners, Kate. The Company pulled some strings and got us tickets to board from Copenhagen. We can stroll the decks with starry eyes gazing at everything and everyone we see. We'll get special passes to both dinner seatings, so we get a chance to look at as many passengers as possible. We're even getting the honeymoon suite."

"Wouldn't a honeymoon couple be expected to spend more of their time between the sheets?"

"After a moonlight walk around the decks so I can get a look at the crew that's on duty at night. Anyone could be a Russian operative. But after that, we'll be able to grab some time together. Kate, checking out a floating resort makes as much sense as wandering aimlessly through the harbor, galleries, and palaces - probably more."

"I guess it does, Babe."

* * *

"What do you know about the couple who just came aboard?" second officer Tobin asks steward, Lars Petersen.

"The honeymoon couple? Not much sir. They are special guests of the line, that's why they boarded here. But I got the feeling that their trip was a last-minute decision."

"Why is that, Petersen?"

"I helped bring their luggage to their cabin, and you know that it is my job to help passengers stow their things. They had plenty of clothes for a honeymoon holiday, but many were the wrong ones. It was if they had prepared for a much warmer destination, a tropical island, maybe. I know plans do change, sir, but I've never seen anyone switch from a warm-weather cruise to one up here. And the couple who was in the honeymoon suite decided to depart the ship on short notice, too.

"The husband had asked me to make sure they were just provided towels and otherwise not bother them or anything in the cabin until the ship docks at the turnaround in Italy. I don't believe they ever intended to disembark here, but apparently, they were offered a last-minute berth aboard a more luxurious ship."

"Have you ever seen that happen before?" Tobin inquires.

"No, Sir, and I've worked for the line for seven years. I'm not sure how to best serve the new passengers' needs."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out, Petersen. As you know, I'm a transfer from another vessel. But I've heard very good things about you. I'm sure your work will be up to your usual exemplary standards."

"Yes, Sir. I hope so."

As soon as Petersen returns to his duties, Tobin makes his way below decks to the engine room. "Seven, seven, six, two, nine, twenty-one."

"Nine, nine, four, eight, six, twenty-one. What are you doing here?" Oiler Vlasic hisses. "We aren't supposed to have any direct contact."

"I'm more than aware of that," Tobin acknowledges, " but I think we may have a problem. Is everything in place for the operation to proceed on schedule?"

"To the minute," Vlasic replies, "including my excuse for disembarking."

Tobin nods. "Mine is arranged as well. Then we'll continue as planned and deal with whatever complications arise."


	9. Chapter 9

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 9

Second officer Tobin regards the couple sitting at a table in the front of the dining room and eying everyone who enters or leaves. They don't appear to be eating as enthusiastically as many of the other passengers. That's no surprise. Unique among the ship's patrons, this is their second seating.

It's not unusual for a ship to extend a few privileges to a celebrity, and from what Tobin has been able to gather, Richard Castle is a writer of minor note. The string-pulling, however, would be more in line with a major movie star than a semi-famous author. That and Petersen's report on the couple's luggage is making Tobin uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, at this point, there's not much Tobin can do about it. Until the operation launches, operatives are maintaining silence. There are too many ways to monitor transmissions, and the satellite link he would have to use to reach the command center would open him to detection. The best he can do is observe the couple's actions, which at the moment seem to involve slowly sipping Champagne and splitting a serving of chocolate mousse.

"Have you noticed the crew member who's watching us?" Kate asks.

Rick lays his spoon across a saucer decorated with the cruise line's logo. "I have. He was on the deck when we came for the first seating. He'd know we came to dinner twice. It might not have been the best idea for Uncle Sam to arrange for us to do that. Anyway, I never thought I'd get tired of sublime food, but we've been eating almost constantly all day. Even if I didn't need to do it to get a look at the connoisseurs of sweat, I'd have to use the gym just to avoid gaining 10 pounds a day."

"I know what you mean, Babe, but do you recognize him?"

"No. I never saw him with Sophia. And I think he's a little young. He would have been a teenager when I worked with her. I don't believe we're interested in anyone under 40 or so."

"Given what looks to be the average age on this voyage, that doesn't narrow it down much, at least among the passengers," Kate notes.

"You're right about that," Castle agrees. "Are you in the mood for a walk? We could use one for both the sake of the mission and our waistlines."

Kate puts down her own spoon. "Absolutely, but we should go by our cabin to change if you want to go to the gym. This dress you bought for me at the overpriced boutique on board is perfect for dinner, but I don't think it would work on an elliptical machine."

Rick appreciatively surveys the curves of Kate's body sheathed by the feather-soft wool of her gown and grins. "True enough, but it might do for bench pressing. I'd be happy to spot you."

"No, thanks. I can think of more interesting lifting to do on my back."

Rick wiggles his eyebrows as they leave the table.

* * *

Francis slams down the triple encrypted phone line he used for his conversation with the DNI. He's never known the balding veteran to panic. Usually, his comments are delivered in a measured tone and list both the pros and cons of any actions being considered. Today the pitch of the man's voice rose at least half an octave, and he was looking for any rabbits that Francis could pull out of his hat.

The intelligence from six allies indicates that the timetable on the massive operation has been moved up. No agency is seriously considering putting the blame on the U.S. It's clear that the Russians are the power behind the looming catastrophes, but that won't stop the Reds from putting out their own messaging - and they are damn good at it. No doubt the demagogues who would like nothing better than to see democracy falter, will spring into action as well. Between conventional and social media, conspiracy theories will bombard eyes and ears around the world, with the U.S. painted as the villain.

So far, Francis is coordinating with Langley to use every avenue they have, but there are painfully few of them. He hates to admit it, but as desperate measures go, sending Castle has been as effective as anything else he's tried - that is to say, not at all. It's already early evening in Copenhagen. The author is due to shoot off a short burst encoded data stream in three hours. The enemy would have to be monitoring at the precise second to detect it, but he wouldn't put it past them. At least with Castle using the latest in miniaturized encoding hardware, it should be difficult for any interceptor to understand the transmission - at least Francis hopes so.

* * *

Oiler Vlasic isn't allowed above the lower decks. Maintenance should be out of sight and out of mind for the passengers. Paying customers aren't supposed to worry about what it takes to run a ship, just enjoy their trip.

It's just as well. Oiler's assignment doesn't involve passenger levels. He can do the most damage in the areas where no one would take note of his presence. The newest generation of bombs is small but deadly. Nestled in the massive machinery, their explosions will create deadly shrapnel. And with additional holes blown at strategic spots below the waterline - he's glad he can get away fast. He has one task to deal with before he sets everything else in motion. His little vial of norovirus will be enough to contaminate the water flowing into the crew quarters. The illness will be written off as just another cruise ship outbreak, but by the time all hell breaks loose, he'll have incapacitated most of the people best equipped to deal with it.

* * *

"You could shoot cannonballs through here," Rick remarks as he and Kate enter the gym.

"It looks like no one on this ship is much into after-dinner work-outs," Kate agrees. "But you won't have to compete with anyone to use the treadmill."

"True enough, but I can think of more pleasurable ways of burning calories."

"Come to think of it," Kate replies, sucking the tip of her index finger and gazing into his eyes, "so can I."

"How fast do you think we can make it back to our cabin?" Rick wonders.

"I'm game to find out if you are."

Rick makes a show of setting the stopwatch on his phone and posing as if in starting blocks. "Just give the word."

Kate pauses. "Wait. Something feels different, like an engine having trouble kicking into a higher gear."

"Kate, the ship is at anchor, the engine wouldn't be engaged."

"Not to move the ship, but something has to circulate the air and pump water, right? That takes power from engines or generators or something. And there's a vibration that wasn't there before. It's not much of a difference, but I can detect it."

Rick strokes the stubble, starting to form on his chin. "Who am I to doubt the best detective on the force, but I'm not sure what we can do about it, Kate."

"We seem to have some special privileges. Do you think you can sweet-talk us into a tour of the engine room? Maybe we'll see something."

"I don't have a clue as to what we'd be looking for, but if that's what you think we should do, I'll give it a shot."

"Good," Kate nods. "The sooner, the better."


	10. Chapter 10

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 10

Captain Leopold Raff left a lot of weight behind when he departed Coast Guard Intelligence for a cushier berth. He ended up being directly responsible for more people's comfort and well-being, but he didn't have to worry much anymore about tradecraft threats - until now.

He wasn't told why the author and his wife had to be aboard his vessel and given high-level perks, merely that it was a matter of international security. As a civilian, he didn't qualify as needing to know anything else, but the level of urgency was clear. Thus, when Richard Castle requested an evening tour of the engine room, Leo decided to conduct it himself.

It's clear to Raff that Rick, as he asks to be called, is enjoying the mechanical aspects of propelling the ship. His eyes widen at the enormous mechanisms. It's Kate, however, who seems to be examining every atom of metal for something. She points to a small device in the heart of a giant flywheel. The hair on Raff's neck stands up as he calls Oiler Vlasic over to explain the function of the device. Leo can see the sweat stain blooming inside the collar of the crewman's coverall.

Vlasic swallows. "It's a sensor to assure the wheel is in perfect alignment," Vlasic explains. The computer monitors it and sounds an alarm at any indication that it's off-center."

Raff stares at the small magnetically attached casing. He suspected that Vlasic would lie, even before he opened his mouth. Now he's sure of it. He's dealt with his share of sensors, and none of them looked anything like that. For one thing, they were at least three orders of magnitude smaller. What Vlasic insisted would keep the wheel in alignment would if anything, throw it off-kilter.

Rick's gaze sweeps over the face of the crewman, Vlasic, that the captain called over. There is something familiar about him, like someone who offered Sophia a selection from the dessert tray, one night when Rick took her to dinner. That waiter's description of the pastries had been long and very detailed. Rick hadn't thought much about it at the time, but the server could have been conveying a message - and Sophia had picked the restaurant.

The crewman's hair color isn't the same as the server's was, and the shape of his nose is different, but the eyebrow that remains elevated regardless of his expression, is distinctive. The only other person Rick's seen sporting one like it is his congressman, but they have no other features in common. Vlasic is also too nervous when talking about something he should have been able to explain in his sleep. Rick isn't 100% sure he's spotted his quarry, but he'd place pretty good odds on it.

Kate notices the skepticism flash over Captain Raff's face, followed by a tinge of fear. Her eyes lock with Rick's as he inclines his head toward Vlasic and nods. Kate yawns noisily. "This has all been fascinating, Captain, but I think jet lag is catching up with me."

Rick stretches his arms above his head, following her lead. "That makes two of us. I'm very grateful for the extra attention, Captain Raff, but I think Kate and I are ready to call it a night."

"I quite understand," Raff responds quickly. "We'll leave you to your duties, Oiler Vlasic."

As soon as he is out of Vlasic's visual range, Raff presses a finger to his lips and leads the way to his office on an upper deck. He waves Rick and Kate in before closing and locking the door. "Look, something is going down here, and I think we all suspect Vlasic is involved. If there's a hazard to my ship and the passengers in my care, I need to know about it."

"That was no sensor," Kate states grimly.

"I don't believe it was," Raff agrees. "What is this all about?"

Rick and Kate silently signal their mutual agreement before he answers. "Look, I was sent here because long ago I might have had contact with a person who is part of something dangerous, not only to your ship but to a large chunk of the world. I believe that person to be the man you introduced as Oiler Vlasic. Kate and I both suspect that your second officer, Tobin may be involved as well."

"I can have security escort them both off the ship and order technicians to check out the device on the flywheel."

Kate shakes her head. "That may put a kink in a much more extensive operation, but it isn't going to stop it."

"Captain," Rick proposes, "suppose you have your security people keep Vlasic and Tobin under surveillance. Chances are they'll both try to jump ship before anything happens. I'm due to send a report off to our people in," he quickly consults his watch, "less than an hour. They can bring the necessary forces to bear to intervene in whatever Vlasic and Tobin had in mind for your ship and drag whatever they know out of them. Believe me, I can tell you firsthand, they have the means."

Past interactions with various intelligence services flash through Raff's mind. "I wouldn't doubt that."

Kate reaches for Rick's hand. "Babe, you better start getting your transmission prepared."

He interlaces his fingers with hers. "You're right. Captain, Kate and I need to return to our cabin."

Tiny lines spread from the corner of Raff's eyes. "You two really are honeymooners, aren't you?"

Rick sighs. "If it weren't for a very unfortunate intrusion into our lives, we would be. But saving the world comes first."

Raff can't contain the smile that springs to his lips. "Yes, I suppose it would."

* * *

Francis studies the decryption of Castle's data blast. Maybe, someone in the universe was listening to his "Hail Mary." The kind of team he needs from the base in Berlin should be able to fly into Copenhagen and get aboard the ship in less than an hour. He hopes that's fast enough.

* * *

Rick props his head on his forearm as Kate snuggles into his chest. "I'm sure Dour Face has people en route to the ship, even as we speak, but I can't help feeling like we should be doing something more - like running."

"I know the feeling, but if we do that, most likely, we tip off Tobin, Vlasic, or whoever else they might have on board. We scanned our cabin for bugs, but that won't keep them from knowing if we attempt to leave. They might even try to get away before our team arrives. We can't let that happen."

Rick draws her tightly against the plaid fabric of his hurriedly purchased climate-appropriate shirt. "I know, but just waiting is harder than tracking down the bad guys. However, if I have to wait, at least I can do it with you."

"Same, here. And whatever happens tonight, should get us that much closer to our real honeymoon."

"From your mouth to God's ears. So, what would you think about taking a cruise? I'm sure Captain Raff could recommend one that would be suitably romantic."

Kate gazes around the cabin. "With all respect to Captain Raff, I think that after this, I'll have had enough of shipboard life for a while. Way too many people and way too little space. I'm looking forward to some real you and me time."

"You and me, both."


	11. Chapter 11

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 11

"What now?" Raff mutters when Dr. Liddell buzzes from sickbay.

"Captain, some of the crew are showing symptoms of norovirus."

Raff's fingers tighten in a fist. "Any of the passengers affected?"

"Not yet," Liddell reports, "but you know how contagious it is. We could be overwhelmed with patients by morning. We may need to make arrangements for medical help from ashore."

"Do what you can for the crewmembers, Liddell, but review your evacuation plan right now, in case we have to get sick people off the ship in a hurry."

"Yes, sir, my staff will be ready."

* * *

Climbing from the emergency exit at the rear of the engine room to the upper decks, Vlasic never hears the whoop of a military helicopter approaching the ship. Tobin is releasing an emergency plank as the SH-60 lands on deck, but security blocks his escape while Vlasic is almost simultaneously captured.

Along with the rest of the passengers, Rick and Kate are guided to a gangway by the still-functional members of the crew. They're urged off the ship. Immediately, a demolitions disarmament team removes the device from the flywheel and scours the rest of the vessel for other explosive devices.

Kate clutches the oversized tote that she prepared as a go-bag. Did you grab what you needed to take with you?" she asks Rick as they wait in an improvised holding area near the dock.

"I have my phone, and my wallet with Krones, dollars and my credit cards. Once we're released from here, we should be able to find accommodations and get anything else we need until we can recover our belongings, such as they are, from the ship. If they let us out of here, that is."

A woman in fatigues approaches the couple. "Mr. and Mrs. Beckett-Castle, come with me, please."

Rick doesn't recognize the face of the man sitting behind a desk in the room where they are taken, but he recognizes the type - nondescript face but hard and alert eyes. "You two have been busy, and your country thanks you for it. I have, however, been instructed to debrief you. I have a transcript of your transmission to the directorate in New York, but it was limited by time and capacity. I'm Agent Andersen. I work under the European command structure, and I'll need every detail you can give me to integrate with our local intelligence."

Rick shakes his head, rolling his eyes. "Of course, you'd be Andersen, except that we're supposed to tell stories to you. I assume you are questioning Tobin and Vlasic, or whoever they really are."

"That's need to know," Andersen answers, "but my team is on top of the situation. Now, I want you to recount every moment you spent aboard the Ariel. Leave out nothing, no matter how trivial."

"If we're going to do that, we're going to have to pee first," Castle announces.

A hint of amusement glints in Andersen's pale blue eyes. "Yes, of course. I'll have someone escort you to the facilities."

* * *

Vlasic looks up apprehensively at the white-haired man inserting an IV, less than gently into his arm. "We have subtler methods, Mr. Vlasic, but I doubt that we have the time. And the suffering you've inflicted on the crew of the Ariel, along with the damage the devices you planted could have caused, hardly merits gentle treatment. You will tell me what I want to know, and if you hesitate, even a moment, in answering any of my questions, the pain will be intense, growing more so every moment you don't respond. This particular chemical mixture won't kill you, but if you don't cooperate completely and immediately, you'll wish it had."

White hair uses a penlight to check Vlasic's pupils. "I see we are ready to begin. What is your name?"

"Ivan Turgenev."

"Very well, Ivan. Who sent you to sabotage the Ariel?"

"_Starik_."

"I'll need more than 'old man.'"

"That was the only name I ever heard. He was there when Sophia and I were raised in the American Village. He spoke English with no accent and was in charge of making sure we could execute American behavior and idiom flawlessly. He was KGB and later FSK and FSB. Putin trusts him and put him in charge of many overseas operations."

"How many cells are under _Starik_?"

"I don't know."

"How do you recognize I.D. numbers as genuine?"

"There are patterns and checksums. A false number would not add up properly."

"Is that how you recognized Tobin?"

"Yes."

"You had a remote trigger for the explosive devices on board the Ariel. When were you supposed to detonate them?"

"I was to receive two signals in 8 to 12 hours, a standby and a go. Much of the crew would have been ill, and possibly some passengers as well. There would have been maximum confusion and collateral damage."

"And how did _Starik_ intend to put the blame on the United States?"

"I only know my part of the operation, but the devices I was given had components with American serial numbers. Had any been found in the rubble, the Americans would have been thought responsible."

Would that signal have come to the receiver you had in your pocket when we captured you?"

"Yes."

White hair strides to the door and signals to another agent. "Have we got a frequency for the receiver we found?"

"The techs just came up with it, Sir."

"I want worldwide monitoring for it - every satellite we have or can beg, borrow, or appropriate. We need to trace the path of the signals immediately and locate whoever receives them. Those are the targets. Teams are to move on any location where a single blip is detected."

* * *

Rick takes a swig from one of the water bottles Andersen provided to him and Kate. Are we finished?"

"For now," Andersen replies. "You'll be taken to secure but comfortable quarters until we need you again or we have a complete all-clear."

"How long will that take?" Kate asks.

"I don't know," Andersen admits. "But at the speed events have been moving, I suspect not long."

* * *

A stream of invectives spews from Viktor Pamchenko, aka, _Starik_, as he studies the transmission from Copenhagen. It's the first time Turgenev has failed. It will also be his last. Fortunately, operations at all of the other targets seem to be uncompromised. He'll still be able to present Vlad with a supreme victory.

His calls to RT and cyber headquarters in St. Petersburg assure him that the real sources of the leader's power, the media, are primed to deliver their messages before the echoes of the last bombs have died away. Every broadcast, every bot, will reinforce the message of the evil in the West that must be overcome by any means possible.

Viktor rubs his hands together in anticipation. It will only be a few more hours. He pulls a bottle of _Stolichnaya Elit_ from his drawer. He won't open it now. He will use it to celebrate the success of his leader and his homeland. Perhaps he and Vlad can have a drink together. That would be sweet, indeed.

* * *

Rick bounces tentatively on the queen-sized bed. "Not bad. Better than the ship and definitely better than what the company provided before."

"Without the bug, I hope. Want to check under the mattress?" Kate queries.

"Sure," Rick agrees, holding out his hand. "but if anyone is listening, our most stimulating communication doesn't require words."


	12. Chapter 12

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 12

Snuggled into Rick's arms, Kate barely hears the faint knock on the door of their temporary quarters.

"Don't answer it." Rick mumbles, "stay in bed."

The rapping becomes more insistent, jarring them both out of any remnants of slumber. The young woman who had taken them to Agent Anderson is standing in front of the door when Rick reluctantly pulls it open. "Agent Anderson needs to see you again."

Rick finger combs his bed-mussed hair out of his eyes. "I hope that means he's going to let us get out of here."

"I don't know, Sir. I was just instructed to bring you to him."

Andersen gestures Rick and Kate to the chairs in front of his desk. "Tell us that you're going to let us get our luggage and go to the Maldives - or at least back to New York," Rick implores.

"You will be permitted to retrieve your belongings from the Ariel, but as to your next destination, that is something I've been requested to discuss with you."

Kate's eyes narrow, "Requested by whom?"

"That's need…"

"to know." Rick finishes. "So give us the official pitch, Andersen, unless like your namesake you can get more creative."

"I wish I could, Mr. Castle - or is it Beckett-Castle?"

Rick shakes his head in disgust. "Professionally Castle, socially Beckett-Castle. Whatever! Just get on with it."

"You want the good or the bad news first?" Andersen queries.

"Is there any good news?" Kate questions.

Andersen brightens. "A lot of it, actually. Our people have managed to head off the planned attacks. The crew and some of the passengers from the Ariel will be ill for a few days, but there were few serious casualties."

"So what's the bad news?" Castle wonders.

"The propaganda machine started rolling even before the attacks were headed off. The Russians have put out a story that the United States staged the entire series of incursions as a false flag plan. The narrative goes that we executed the entire worldwide operation to portray ourselves as saviors of the world and that the purported perpetrators were actually undercover Americans."

"Who would believe that?" Kate exclaims.

"A lot of people," Rick replies grimly. "Kate, you know I monitor conspiracy sites because they occasionally deal with potential plotlines. But most of the people who subscribe to them, take them as seriously as a heart attack. No doubt the Twitter-verse is full of those lies by now, too."

"And Facebook," Andersen adds. "And since sleeper agents who spent much of their lives in the U.S. attempted to execute the attacks, the Russian version appears on the surface to have some credibility. That's why we still need you - both of you."

"Don't our agencies have the means to counter what the Russians are putting out?" Kate queries.

"Unfortunately not," Andersen admits. "The Russians have invested much more heavily in these tactics than we have. There's a whole branch of the GRU devoted to them. We're playing catch-up, and right now we don't have the time."

"So where do Kate and I come in?" Rick asks.

"You two were on the Ariel. Not only were you witnesses to what happened, but you were also instrumental in preventing a disaster. We need you to tell your story - an unclassified version. We can set up radio and television interviews around the world. You two will be a much more believable face for America than any politician."

"Couldn't I just put a post on Twitter?" Rick proposes. "I have half a million followers globally to retweet it."

"You can do that too," Andersen acknowledges, "but it won't go nearly far enough to combat the deluge of messaging from the other side. We need to charm the world and regain their trust. The Beckett-Castles can play a large part in that."

Rick looks at Kate. "What do you think?"

Kate turns to Andersen. "Where is the government planning on sending us?"

"Your first stop would be the U.K. That's where some of the most vicious misinformation is being disseminated."

"Do we get to meet the queen?" Rick asks, hopefully.

"I don't know about that," Andersen replies, "but I'll see what I can do."

* * *

"I love this hotel!" Rick declares, bouncing on the high mattress of a massive wooden bed. "What could be better than a converted castle?"

Kate reties her newly purchased wool wrap sweater more tightly. "A room with a decent heating system."

Rick pulls her into his lap. "We don't have an interview for a few hours. I'm sure we can figure out creative ways to keep warm."

Kate thrusts her hand beneath his shirt. "We may at that. And somehow I don't think that stone walls are very amenable to the implantation of hidden cameras."

"We haven't checked the bed for bugs."

Kate walks her fingers up his chest. "I'm willing to risk it."

* * *

The first difference Kate notices between a British chat show and an American talk show is the alcohol. Not that it isn't welcome. If she's going to have her face, as expertly made up as the artist backstage made it, in front of a camera, she can use a little liquid courage.

Rick takes a sip of the Irish whiskey two fingers high in his glass. Typically, he's not nervous in front of an audience or a camera. Martha's genes came through strongly enough on that score. But he's not talking about or reading from one of his books. He needs to keep carefully to an unwritten but very precise story, as does Kate.

They are free to talk about spotting the strange object in the engine room, or even about brave Captain Raff and his courageous crew. What they are not allowed to talk about is any reason for being on the Ariel except to celebrate their honeymoon. They're also supposed to emphasize the swift and heroic rescue by American forces.

All of that is true, of course, it just leaves out the meat of the story. Someday, when he finally gets Heat and Rook to say their vows, he might write a fictionalized account of the adventure, but for now, that is far in the future.

The host, in a gold-trimmed green velvet jacket and gold-tipped boots, bounds to his spot in front of the studio audience. "Helloo, helloo, helloo! For any of you who have been living in a cave for the last 20 years - no I'm not that old, make it 10 - I'm Sean Larten. Perhaps you noticed that when you woke up this morning the world was still here. My guests today are very appreciative of that little matter. Not only were they aboard the Ariel, but they were able to alert its captain to the imminent danger they faced. And they are interrupting their honeymoon to share their story with you!"

"Even in makeup, you look pale," Rick notes. "Are you all right to do this?"

Kate swallows the acid burning its way up her throat. "Too late to run now."

"Here they are, fresh from the jaws of death and onto the screen in your pub, Rick and Kate, the Beckett-Castles," Sean announces.

Rick takes Kate's hand, warming her chilled fingers with his own. "Here we go." They walk through rainbow curtains to the applause of the audience.

Kate glances sideways as a stagehand places her glass on the coffee table in front of a couch that looks like a prop from _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_. She'll have to remember to thank him. She's going to need it.


	13. Chapter 13

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 13

"I wanted to meet the queen, but getting seats at the concert for Prince Charles' trust was even better," Rick declares. "I never thought I'd see The Rolling Stones live. Mick Jagger really is still alive, isn't he? That wasn't some animatronic version?"

"Mick is very much alive," Kate confirms, "but I'm not so sure about Keith Richards. I wonder if they give him a jolt of electricity or a shot of vampire blood backstage."

Rick grins, leaning over the seat rest in their plane, for a kiss. "Just married and you're already starting to sound like me. Whatever they did, worked. And our time at the castle afterward wasn't bad either."

"No, it wasn't," Kate agrees. "I don't remember feeling cold, once. I wonder what's going to happen in Austria."

"I would picture skipping up grass-covered hills and singing about female deer and drops of golden sun, but somehow I don't think that's what Uncle Sam has in mind for us."

"Things there may be more like the brainwashing of the kid that delivers telegrams, into becoming a Nazi," Kate muses. "There's been a resurgence of some nasty movements that Russians would probably love to exploit."

Rick strums an imaginary guitar. "So we'll put in our version of an appearance at a music festival. I wonder if we could rent a bunch of kids. You think any more about having some of our own? You did really well when we took care of Bennie."

"If you call total exhaustion after one night, doing well. But Babe, we just got married, and we had to work pretty hard to manage to do that."

"No one knows that better than I do," Rick acknowledges. "And if you say no to children, I'll support your decision. But Alexis has brought me such joy; I'd love to see you share in that kind of richness. I told you about it, Kate, when Volkov took her. Having a child instantly and irretrievably puts a kind of love into your life that you could never imagine, and I'd hate to see you miss out on that. I don't believe you can understand it unless you experience it."

"I'll think about it," Kate promises, "but we have a lot to get through in the next couple of weeks, first."

Rick presses a kiss into the palm of her hand. "That we do."

* * *

"This is different," Kate comments watching two young men tumble their way to the couch of an Austrian morning show where she and Rick have been booked.

"I've watched plenty of airheads giving people a questionable start to their day, but it was never literal," Rick agrees. "At least people watching won't be nodding off into their coffee and pastries. I hope those guys didn't eat too much of the spread that was in the green room before they went on."

"I doubt it," Kate ventures. "they hardly looked weighed down. I think anything we get to say after this is going to be anti-climactic."

"I guess that depends on how lively our interpreter is. It looks like this is going to be a short segment. We should be on soon. How are you doing?"

"If you mean am I scared to death like I was at our last appearance, not quite. If these guys aren't falling on their heads, I probably won't fall on my face."

"And if you do start to tip over, I will be there to catch you."

Kate snuggles against his shoulder. "I know."

* * *

After the morning show, Kate didn't expect what she and Rick face in the afternoon. She stares at the table prepared for a panel and the moderator intensely studying his notes on a laptop. "This is more like Meet the Press, than The View. Whoever the guests are here, could be asking serious questions."

"In which case, we will give them serious answers," Rick responds. "Pared down as it may be, the truth is on our side, Kate. You can't catch someone in a lie unless they're telling one."

"As the daughter of two lawyers, I might dispute that. And we don't know how good the translation of what we actually say will be."

"There's nothing we can do about that now - unless you want me to fake a heart attack," Rick offers. "I watched from the wings at least six times when one of Mother's co-stars did it. I think I got the hang of it."

"That would put a serious crimp in the rest of our schedule," Kate reminds him. "let's just go do it."

"And after we do, we can reward ourselves with some time together in our inn before we have to continue with our itinerary," Rick reminds her. "Just hold on to that."

Kate squeezes his hand. "I already am."

* * *

Kate sits cross-legged on a colorful rag rug next to Rick, while he builds up the blaze in the fireplace in their suite. "The flames remind me of some of the guests this afternoon."

"One of those guys did have crazy eyes," Rick agrees, "but I think we did all right. We haven't gotten any frantic calls from the powers that be." He gazes at the handmade quilt on the bed and the rustic but solid furnishings. "And even without the fire, places don't come much cozier than this. It wouldn't be a bad spot for a honeymoon; not bad at all, especially if that bed is as comfortable as it looks. I won't mind seeing you in what we picked up at that little store attached to the lobby, either."

"It's flannel, Babe."

"But ever so skillfully designed to showcase the beauty of my bride. Besides, you told me that you think flannel is sexy."

"On you. Plaid brings out your eyes, and I like snuggling into it."

"I will stock my closet with it immediately upon our return to New York." He regards the flames now dancing in and out of the stout logs. "This should burn for a while - the perfect opportunity for us to light more intimate fires."

Kate pushes up from the floor. "I'll go slip into something more comfortable."

Rick also rises, wiggling his eyebrows. "And I'll get ready to slip you out of it."

* * *

Kate studies herself in the mirror of their small but spotless bathroom. The intricately embroidered warmth of her gown drapes softly over her curves, but it's not so much the garment that she sees. Even in the midst of wrestling with continual stage fright, she looks happier. The haunted look that used to stare at her from her own eyes is gone. Her mother may finally be resting in peace, but Kate is awake in peace, for the first time since Johanna Beckett's death.

She fingers her upper arm where her doctor placed the implant that has protected her from pregnancy. Maybe now that the wall she built around herself to keep out the demons has fallen, there's room for more in her life than her work - and Rick. He does love children, and they love him. She's seen it not just with Alexis, but with any kids they've encountered. He bonds instantly, even with infants. When they get back to the states - she'll see. But for now, she will enjoy the kind of close encounters with her husband that might eventually lead to a larger family circle. She will enjoy them very much.


	14. Chapter 14

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 14

"What's that little smile?" Rick asks as the flight he and Kate are on descends into Brussels Airport. "You look like a cat thinking about cream."

"Close, a Kate, thinking about chocolate."

We'll be in the right place," Rick notes. "We can probably get some decent Belgian chocolate in the terminal, or better still go on one of the chocolate tasting tours. The city is full of them. Mother was shooting a scene for a movie in Brussels once. She told me that several members of the cast had to have their costumes refitted after binging on dark deliciousness."

"Sounds incredible," Kate murmurs, closing her eyes, "but will we have time?"

"I don't see why not. Both of our bookings are evening shows. I think one is in Dutch and one is in French. "We should be able to fit in some dreamy creaminess."

Kate nudges him with her knee. "Are we still talking about chocolate?"

"For now. We will be staying the night. We have a room at a B&B less than a mile from the airport. It will probably have tour brochures. We can drop our things off and go. How's your French?"

"Not too bad. I had three years of it in high school and then a couple of semesters in college. I can read it fine and make conversation, more or less. You?"

"_Pas mal_. You know Alexis is really into it. She had a chance to be immersed in it when she was little. Clothes horse that Meredith is, she wanted to tour the salons and fashion houses of Paris. I took both of them for a summer. I studied French in high school and college, too, and I was able to absorb more of it abroad. Alexis drank it in like a sponge and kept it up, so she's pretty fluent now. Like you, I can get along reading it, and if no one speaks to me too quickly or idiomatically. That helped me understand some of what was going on when Alexis was kidnapped. But I've been known to play totally ignorant American to see whether someone is trying to rip me off."

Kate grins. "I did the same thing with Russian in Brighton Beach in New York. I took my Aunt Theresa to a tea room there. The prices were almost twice as high on the menu in English as they were on the one in Russian. The look on the manager's face when I got the check and pointed out the discrepancy was priceless. I got two free orders of baklava out of it."

"You let the man off easy," Rick points out. "I would have demanded caviar."

"I would have, but Aunt Theresa doesn't like it. She says she prefers her fish to be fully grown and have a fighting chance."

"The woman has a point," Rick acknowledges. "So, B& B, then the path to cacao nirvana?"

"Sounds great!"

* * *

Kate settles against Rick in the car that's taking them to the TV studio. "Still in a warm brown haze?" he asks.

"Mmm."

Rick presses his lips to her hair. "I read that eating chocolate puts the same chemicals in your blood that being in love does."

"I read that too. So maybe we have a double dose."

Rick sighs. "Pity we have to be on TV. I can think of much more satisfying activities right now."

Kate drums her fingers on his knee. "So can I."

Rick reluctantly straightens against the leather seat. "Duty calls, but hold that thought."

* * *

The translator gazes solemnly into the camera. "_Ma femme et moi-même n'avons vu personne associé à l'attaque qui ne soit pas originaire des États-Unis_."

Kate and Rick look at each other as he springs halfway out of his chair. "Wait a minute! That's not what I said! The person who most likely placed the bomb we saw was not an American. _Le bombardier n'était pas américain_!"

The host holds up his hand. "_Un moment. Nous allons faire une pause_."

"You're going to take more than a pause," Rick declares. Glaring at the translator, he extends a hand to Kate. "_Raconte tes mensonges, mais ne prétends pas qu'ils sortent de notre bouche_. Tell your lies but don't pretend they are coming out of our mouths."

On the sidewalk outside the studio, Kate turns to Rick. "What are we supposed to do now? Go do the Dutch broadcast?"

Closing his eyes, Rick shakes his head. "Honestly, I don't know. I don't speak Dutch, do you?"

"Not a word."

"So if someone tries to pull the same stunt, we wouldn't know the difference. We wouldn't have known in Austria either, but I assume the Company was monitoring. I guess we ask. We can go back to the B&B. I'll send out the contact signal, and after that, we'll have to wait to hear something. We do have the chocolate we bought on our tour."

"Somehow, I'm not hungry."

* * *

Shaking his head, Francis views the video of the truncated Belgian broadcast. "This is not good, not good at all."

"Are you going to recall them, Sir?" Danberg asks.

"That's above my pay grade. This operation comes from the top. At the very least, the other Belgian interview is out until we can get our own translator in place - if we have one close enough. That is Andersen's problem. But if the Beckett-Castles continue, we're going to have to vet any other translators."

"I believe we may have one of our own who would work, Sir. He's a reserve officer who served in Afghanistan and just returned stateside. Indiana, I think. Bright guy. He speaks seven languages. I've heard some chatter about him. He first served under 'Don't ask don't tell,' but wanted to get a love life after it was repealed. Not much in the way of dating opportunities on active duty."

"Congress had its head up its ass for too long. I don't know why they had to give a sh*t about whom someone falls in love with so long as they don't pursue it on the job. The forces had enough trouble recruiting good people as it was. I'll check with Langley, but see if we can get a hold of your guy so we can ship him to Europe ASAP if I get a go-ahead."

* * *

Paul Geeson surveys the opportunities available at Notre Dame University. By all rights, he should qualify for a professorship in the linguistics department, but there are no openings. He can reclaim his job as an instructor. The pay won't be great, but it will be better than what he was getting in the army. And with the scholarships he qualified for in school, he doesn't have a lot of student debt. He'll get along for now. He'd considered signing on at the U.N., but his family is in Indiana, and he's been away long enough.

The knock at the door is surprising. Paul had agreed to have dinner with his parents that night, and he wasn't expecting anyone. Damn! The haircut and the posture on the man he sees when he opens the door, give him the feeling that he may not make it to a family dinner - at least not for a while.

* * *

"So we're getting our own translator?" Kate asks. "It would have saved a lot of trouble if the Company had done that in the first place."

"From what Anderson said, they thought it would make it look too much like a government operation. But this guy comes from Notre Dame - the university not the church - and apparently has an innocent academic look to him. We'll be skipping the broadcast in Dutch, but he'll be meeting us at our next stop."

"Italy? I was hoping we'd stroll the streets of Rome together."

"Me too. But if he becomes a third wheel, we'll figure out a way to lose him.


	15. Chapter 15

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 15

"We are not going to the Santa Maria Della Vittoria," Kate declares. "The guide book says that the place is overrun with Dan Brown wannabes. I don't see the point. After I read his second novel, I could always tell who the killer would be. At least in your books, it's a surprise."

"The visitors are probably hoping they'll run into Tom Hanks," Rick guesses. "Fine, where do you want to go? The Trevi Fountain? The Sistine Chapel?"

"Gianicolo Hill. It's supposed to be a beautiful climb, and from up there we can see the whole city. We won't need Paul to translate anything for us either. Plants and trees don't talk."

"Unless you're talking about the apple trees in The Wizard of Oz. So you're thinking about just you and me scaling a summit together to one of the most impressive views in the world - except when compared to my gorgeous wife of course. I can get on board with that."

Kate runs the tip of her finger down his chest. "There is one thing, though. I don't have any shoes good for climbing."

Castle grins, pulling her in for a kiss. "So Kate Beckett-Castle wants to go shoe shopping in Rome. I'm shocked! But it's a good idea. You shouldn't spend the rest of our trip with your feet all blistery. You want to take Paul with us to translate whatever pitch you hear from the salesperson?"

Kate shakes her head. "Shoes are a universal language."

"Or for when they're not, we can use the translation app on my phone," Castle proposes.

* * *

Kate gazes around at the artful displays of footwear flanking the walls of a shop. "I don't know, Babe. Are you sure this is the place?"

"Five-star review on YELP," Rick replies. "I took a screen capture of the shoes you were looking for on my phone if you want to ask someone. If shoes are a universal language, a picture of them should be doubly so."

"I guess." Kate pastes her most engaging smile on her face and holds Rick's phone up for the nearest saleswoman, whose nametag reads Giada.

Giada winks. "No worries, ducks! I speak English. My mum is Italian, but my dad is strictly London. Looking for something to scale the hills of Rome?"

"Just Gianicolo," Kate admits. "We won't be here that long."

"Best to enjoy it while you are, but the boots featured out here are more fashion-forward than best foot forward, if you know what I mean. We keep the more practical ones in the back for the locals." Giada waves them to comfortably upholstered chairs. "Have a seat. I'll bring some out." She nods toward Rick. "And how about you? Can't have you limping along. Matching pairs?"

Rick shrugs. "If they fit, why not?"

"Oh, they'll fit," Giada assures him. "I don't want my customers complaining about sore feet, do I?"

* * *

Kate stretches contentedly on the blanket the hotel provided for her and Rick to take with them for a picnic in the trees and shrubbery at the top of Gianicolo. "Enjoying the view, Babe?" she asks, looking up at Rick."

"I am - and Rome isn't bad either. You know you always have a certain glow about you when you get new shoes. Or maybe you just glow a little more brightly. And the sun up here brings it out."

"You look pretty happy yourself," Kate notes. "I think Giada was right about the fit."

"The shoes are not the fit that counts. It's you and I that mesh perfectly. I wish we could just watch the world scurry along without us for a while. But we have to do that interview this evening, and we'll need time to get down the hill and get ready. And we'll have to work out some kind of rhythm with Paul."

Kate sways slightly, her eyes shining. "I don't know about Paul, but we do have a talent for rhythm." She glances at her watch. "And we can stay a little longer before we have to start down."

Rick scuttles across the blanket to lie beside her. "How much longer?"

Kate threads her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, bringing her lips close to his. "Long enough."

* * *

"We almost gave those tourists an eyeful," Rick remarks as he and Kate make their way down the hill. "Maybe we can pick up where we left off, after the evening's festivities."

"It may be optimistic to refer to them as festivities," Kate muses. "but we'll have something to look forward to, later."

* * *

Paul's alert blue eyes take in every detail of the television studio and everyone in it. His instructions had been explicit. He's not just there to translate. He could do that in his sleep. He's there to use his intelligence officer eyes to search out any signs of trouble. So far, there are none, but he has enough wartime experience to know that things can change in a fraction of a second.

The Beckett-Castles will be the first guests of the evening, at least he'll be able to help them do their jobs and get out of there as quickly as possible. The warmup is going well with jokes about what kind of community service Berlusconi expected to do instead of jail time for corruption. The host suggests, to the amusement of the audience that the government enlist the old pol as a party planner. He uses the segway to suggest that his first guests were drawn into a strange party of their own. A production assistant signals for Kate and Rick to emerge from a curtain at the end of the monologue, with Paul following them as unobtrusively as he can.

Paul translates smoothly as Rick gives Kate credit for spotting the object in the engine room of the Ariel and relates the events that followed, including the safekeeping of the passengers by U.S. forces. Paul has to admit that the man is apt at spinning a tale. When Rick and Kate join hands and announce that they are undeterred from resuming their honeymoon, the cheers are genuine. No problems - at least not yet. Rick stops to sign Italian versions of his books and pose for selfies, on the way out of the studio.

The ground rocks beneath them as Paul ushers Rick and Kate to the car they used to get from the hotel to the studio. He's smaller than Rick, but he does his best to cover both his charges with his body as they hit the ground. The stench of smoke fills the air as flames rise from the car the three of them would have occupied a moment later. If it hadn't been for the eager Richard Castle fans, Rick, Kate, and Paul would all have been caught in the conflagration.

Paul urges Rick and Kate back from the blaze and begins to snap pictures of the surrounding area on his phone. He doesn't have much hope of getting an image of the perpetrator. From the way it went off, the bomb was on a timer not detonated by someone nearby. Still, he might get a clue to whoever set it, and he'll need the pictures for his report. The Russians clearly don't want Rick and Kate to continue their tour. It will be Paul's job to make sure that they do, but it looks like it will take more than his linguistic skills. A lot more.


	16. Chapter 16

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 16

Paul hunches over Rick and Kate. "I need to get you out of here."

"Shouldn't we wait for the police?" Kate queries.

"They may ask questions that we shouldn't be answering," Paul cautions. "If they want to talk to you later, we'll make sure we have our story straight. But right now, let's go. Once we get some distance from here, we can use the metro."

"How about a cab?" Rick wonders.

Paul shakes his head. "The fallout from the explosion will make the traffic even worse than usual, and you're less trackable on public transportation." The oscillating tones of a European siren sound in the distance. "We need to move now."

Rick drops into a seat on the comfortable rail system with his arm around Kate on one side and Paul leaning forward in his place on the other. "You're not just a translator, are you?" Rick questions.

"I'm here to ensure that your message gets out," Paul explains, "by translating and whatever else it takes including keeping you alive. Obviously, you're making the Russians nervous, which is a good sign for our country but dangerous for you. The hotel may no longer be safe for you, either. I can get a team in from the Gaeta NSA base to sweep it, but we should move on as soon as possible. You're scheduled for Germany next. I'd have our people put security in place, but from what's happened so far, I'm afraid there's a leak. It's probably best if we pick a place at random, pay cash and don't book any cars or other transportation that will require a name or a credit card. And there still may be an enemy contact at the studio."

"Wouldn't it be better to cancel the trip entirely?" Castle wonders. "I hate keeping Kate in the line of fire like this."

"I'm fine," Kate insists, "and if we quit now, the bad guys win."

Rick draws her closer. "That's my kick-ass wife. All right, random accommodations in Germany it will be. Just try to make sure we get a decent bed."

"I'll try my best," Paul promises.

* * *

"I think Paul has a future as a travel agent," Rick remarks, settling on the edge of a large and sturdy bed. "This place is no five star, but it isn't half bad."

"From the pile of euros, I saw Paul hand over, it better not be," Kate replies, "even if it is Uncle Sam's money."

"Your tax dollars at work," Rick quips. "Anyway, we have some time to kill before the radio show. Any ideas on activities to pursue?"

Kate drapes herself across his lap. "There's TV and in-room movies, but they're in German."

Rick unfastens the top button of her blouse. "I think I saw an Oompah band in the beer garden across the way. Care for some music?"

"Not the kind of music I had in mind," Kate replies, fingering his collar.

"And what kind would that be?" Rick inquires, undoing another button.

"Something with a thrusting rhythm."

Rick scoops her from his lap and lays her across the brocade spread covering the sheets and blankets. "Together, I believe we can manage that just fine."

Kate reaches up, popping buttons as she pulls open Rick's shirt. Their lips meet in the deep need sparked by ever-present danger. Desperate fingers tear at offending clothing until they are skin to skin. As her breasts press against Rick's bare chest, Kate can't get close enough. Her long legs wrap around his waist as the temperature of their bodies rises, enveloping them in a mantle of heat. She is open, needy. Her hands reach for Rick, urging him to fill her intimate sheath.

Bedclothes wrinkle and tangle beneath them as they execute the moves of the most ancient of dances. Desperate, Kate arches and grinds against Rick, every feminine cell screaming for completion. Their lips collide, tongues searching and twining, and their motion becomes even more insistent. Like a crash of symbols, a climax overcomes them, aftershocks coursing through Kate's body as she lies in Rick's arms.

* * *

"Considering the situation, you two look very relaxed," Paul notes as Kate leans against Rick's shoulder on the U- Bahn.

"You don't," Rick points out. "Any whispers that we might be expecting more trouble?"

"No," Paul admits, "but there weren't any in Rome either. Just stay alert, and if I give you the signal, follow the plan to get the hell out of the broadcasting booth. If you don't finish your segment, we can always apologize later."

Rick raises one eyebrow. "Apologizing is always easier than asking permission?"

"Pretty much," Paul agrees.

Although the broadcast will be in German, almost everyone at the radio station, including the host of the show, speaks English. There's no green room spread like at a TV Station, but there's coffee in a break room and reasonably comfortable chairs for guests awaiting their segments.

Paul listens attentively to the sound from a speaker on the wall near where he is waiting with Kate and Rick. There is more than a tinge of right-wing politics to the on-air conversation, but the audience for that is just the segment of the German populace that the U.S. side of the Ariel and related events stories needs to reach. Still, the direction of the conversation puts Paul even more on his guard.

The station knew that Rick and Kate were coming - and when. That information could have been transmitted. Paul will have to make sure their movements are as unpredictable as possible. There aren't a lot of options in that department. They can leave by a little-used door and take a direction other than the one back to the hotel for a while. Once they are far enough away, they can pick up the U-Bahn again, or the S-Bahn and maybe a bus. If nothing else, the honeymooning couple will get a tour of the city.

There may be an upside to that. Paul's observed that Rick's nose can sniff out the best restaurants anytime and anywhere. Other than some of the pastry, German cookery, especially sausages, is far from Paul's favorite, but on a random foray into the surrounding city, Rick can probably find the best of it.

Paul can use a good dinner. His stomach hasn't been willing to accommodate much in the way of food since the car bomb went off in Rome. He wouldn't say that he's hungry now, but he can't afford to let his strength flag. And Rick's skills as a raconteur can make a meal go down more smoothly.

Rick's more than a great storyteller. Paul can see why Kate is so taken with the writer. If the situation were different, he could very easily develop a crush on the man himself. But Rick's married and about as straight as a man could be, and Paul has work to do. He can't afford any distractions.

When he gets back to the states, he'll see what he can do about developing a love life. After everything he's been through, he deserves one.

The producer signals that it's time for Rick and Kate to go into their act, with Paul's linguistic assistance. So far, so good. As the host introduces the couple, a board lights up indicating incoming phone calls. Somehow Paul doubts that they'll be friendly ones. This could be a very long 20 minutes.


	17. Chapter 17

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 17

Viktor Pamshenko breathes a temporary sigh of relief after running a radiation detector over his tea. The leader hasn't sent anyone with polonium - yet. Of course, there are many other ways to die; falling off roofs, stumbling out of windows, automobile accidents, or a potassium chloride initiated heart attack. If the leader wants to take him out, he can do it at any time. Viktor suspects the attempt will be sooner rather than later.

His plan has almost completely fallen apart. To be sure, he still has many operatives in place, but they have been staggeringly unsuccessful. He has one last chance to redeem himself in the eyes of the leader, but it is a slim one. He has enough intelligence to know that Richard Castle and his bitch of a wife will be in Israel. Although the country is one of the U.S.'s staunchest allies, his people have been doing their best to establish a presence there. And bombings and rocket fire are nothing out of the ordinary. One more or less would be blamed on a longstanding oppositional group, who might even be anxious to take credit for it. Once America's voice is out of the way, Viktor can begin reinforcing what he wants the world to hear and perhaps work his way back into the leader's good graces.

* * *

Paul's Arabic is better than his Hebrew; however, enough Israelis speak English to keep even a dishonest translator from scrambling a story too severely. There have been generations of Zionists emigrating from the U.S. to Israel, using the right of return. The outcry would come immediately, probably before the end of a broadcast.

Paul's worried about a more direct attack. Both bombings and rocket fire have been on the upswing, injuring or killing everyone from sabras to visiting children's soccer teams. If the Beckett-Castles are caught in yet another tragedy, there would be expressions of sadness and regret, but life would resume as it always does in a country where such attacks are viewed as an unfortunate part of life.

There really is no safe place, but he will do the best he can to limit the exposure of the couple in his care.

"I've always wanted to see the Dead Sea," Rick declares. "What could be cooler than water so salty that you can't sink? And the image of Mother in the black mud imported from there always tickles me. She swears that it's the best facial around. She even got Meredith to try it. I still have the pictures. I suppose Kate and I could use it to keep anyone from recognizing us."

The seed of a chuckle rises in Paul's throat. "I don't think that will be necessary. We're booked in a nearby resort under recently developed covers. They won't be familiar to any operatives in the area. Any contact we have with the studio before your broadcast will be by secure phone or text. They won't know where we are and neither will anyone else, and we won't confirm the time of your broadcast until we have to. I had instructions to use my own judgment in picking our accommodations. No one in or out of the agency will know where we are either."

"I have readers in Israel," Rick points out, "and no doubt some among the tourists. They could recognize me, and even Kate. We've also been all over the web and in newspapers around the world."

"You'd be amazed at how much a hat over your face and big sunglasses can disrupt recognition by the human brain or a computer," Paul counters. "The intelligence community did studies. In this area, dressing that way would be unremarkable. Without a strongly distinguishing feature like a scar or a birthmark on the lower halves of your faces, you'll go unnoticed. You'll just be another couple visiting a famous site, and I can be a friend you picked up during your travels."

"You missed your calling, Paul," Rick remarks. "You could be making a fortune in Hollywood helping A-listers travel under the radar."

Paul smiles, wryly. "If I were interested in making a fortune, I would have never gone into government service - or teaching. That's what I do back home."

"Hmm," Rick muses, "teacher turned intelligence officer. You'd make a great character for a book – except that he might be a little too Dan Brownish."

"I'm no Langdon. I'm terrible at solving puzzles," Paul admits.

"Even more interesting," Rick offers. "Any engaging personality has to have flaws - except, of course for my wife or her avatar."

Kate rolls her eyes but rises on her toes to give Rick a quick kiss.

* * *

"Where the hell are they?" Pamshenko demands of his underling.

"We know they landed in Tel Aviv, Sir. There were pictures on social media. But from there they could have gone anywhere, and they haven't been spotted since."

"Someone must have seen them!" Pamshenko insists.

"Not that we're aware of, Sir. We believe they are scheduled to appear on a broadcast, but the time and place for that have not been confirmed. They may even pre-record it."

"Keep on it," Pamshenko commands. "Use every eye and ear that we have."

"Yes, Sir," the underling agrees, but as far as he knows, all resources are in play. The targets have faded from sight.

* * *

Faces covered by the most enormous hats they could find, Rick and Kate lounge in the sunshine. Aside from Paul, they are far from alone. Travelers have come from everywhere both to sightsee and avail themselves of the healing properties attributed to the hypersaline water. "Nothing like hiding in the midst of a crowd," Rick mutters to himself, yet he'd rather be alone with Kate. Paul tries his best to avoid being intrusive, but he is a constant presence, nonetheless. And the crowd of tourists isn't conducive to spontaneous displays of marital affection. Still, Kate is as safe here as she can be anywhere, and much as he admires her kickass nature, Rick is unceasingly grateful for that.

Through texting, Rick's made an agreement for Kate and him to prerecord at seven that evening for later broadcast. That gives them a little time to enjoy the sun and perhaps even a nap - or something more energetic - in their room before they leave. Paul will be in an adjoining room on the other side of a door, but he'll give them as much privacy as he can.

* * *

"When are they coming?" Avigdor inquires.

"Nineteen hundred hours," his assistant, Leah, replies. "We're all set to record."

Avigdor nods. "_Tov_. That should work out very well."

As soon as Leah leaves the room, Avigdor pulls a phone from a locked drawer and texts a code. If Pamshenko's team fails this time, _Starik_ won't be the only one going down. The leader made it known that he is out of patience. There are only two ways to approach the studio, and Avigdor has made preparations for both of them. The devices will be identical to ones used in a recent terrorist attack and easily detonated by electronics available anywhere around the globe. The explosion will blow up the U.S.'s attempts to continue putting out their counter-narrative, as well as leave the American people blaming the wrong party. The plan is elegant in its simplicity, and in a couple of hours, its execution will be complete.


	18. Chapter 18

Uninvited Interlude

Chapter 18

Paul can feel the prickling on his neck that made him wary of IEDs in Afghanistan. He doesn't like that there are only two roads to the broadcasting station, and as he and the Beckett-Castles get closer, he likes it less. He pulls the rental car into the nearest available place to park.

"What's wrong?" Rick asks.

"I have a bad feeling," Paul explains.

"Spidey-sense?" Rick queries.

"Something like that. To be safer, I think that you and Kate should put on your hats and your glasses and we should walk the rest of the way," Paul suggests. "It's only about a klick. And I'll walk ahead of you. In Afghanistan, I got pretty good at spotting places where explosives could be concealed."

"Paul, don't let yourself get blown up, either," Kate cautions.

"I'll do my best," he promises.

Moving at what he hopes looks like a leisurely stroll, Paul scans everything in front of him. He spots a man standing on the sidewalk across the street, smoking a cigarette. In itself, that's not suspicious. Smoking is prohibited in many buildings in Israel, as it is in the United States. Nicotine addicts get their fixes outside. But the man's attention keeps flicking to a newspaper vending machine on the corner - one that could easily accommodate a bomb. Paul signals Rick and Kate into the nearest building. "Look, I may be jumping at nothing, but I don't think it's safe to continue walking the way we are."

"So what do we do?" Rick asks.

"Go through the buildings, where we're out of sight. Leave by side doors, back doors, whatever we can find, until we get to the station. But we stay away from the road."

* * *

Avigdor consults his watch for the third time in five minutes. The Beckett-Castles are late for the recording of the broadcast. He hadn't planned on them showing up at all, but he hasn't heard or felt an explosion either. Something should have happened by now.

He'd made a big show of being upset that he had to switch the order of the show when the couple didn't arrive on time, but now he's worried that if they do turn up, it will be in one piece.

Leah knocks on the door of Avigdor's office. "They're here with their translator. They apologized for being late and are ready to record their segment."

Avigdor nods. "Fine. Make sure they're miked and ready to follow the guest that's on now."

As Leah closes the door behind her, Avigdor presses his face into his hands. Starik is going to be furious, but what is worse, so is the leader. And if Israeli authorities find the bombs and connect them to Avigdor - he'd better find a hole to hide in and find it fast.

* * *

"So," host Yossi Meir reiterates, "it was U.S. forces that protected the passengers and crew of the Ariel, regardless of national origin, from harm."

"It was," Rick confirms.

"And of course, Captain Raff," Kate adds. "He was brilliant in recognizing the danger and calling in the cavalry."

"I understand," Yossi continues, "that the events aboard the Ariel and what followed, interrupted your honeymoon."

Smiling wistfully, Rick reaches for Kate's hand, "Unfortunately, that's true. But we have been enjoying what we can of our travels and," he winks, "we are looking forward to making up for lost time."

"I wish you every happiness," Yossi declares, "and I'm sure my viewers do as well."

* * *

"Now what?" Rick asks Paul as they approach the exit of the studio.

"Pretty much the same as last time, except we'll use the buildings on the other side of the street until we get to the car," Paul explains. "I already sent a heads up to our people to warn the Israeli authorities about the possibility of bombs on the route to the studio. We'll just have to stay away from possible sites until the Israelis can bring in disarmament units. They may already be on their way."

* * *

The plane Rick and Kate are taking back to the United States is a lot more comfortable than the one they took to Europe. It has real seats that recline, a lavatory and even a little refrigerator stocked with juices and soft drinks to go with prepackaged but not inedible meals. Rick turns to Kate, who is gazing out the window at the clouds below. "Looking forward to getting home?"

"I want to see my dad. I sent messages to him that we were all right whenever I could, like you did with Alexis and Martha, but he'll still be worried."

"I think in-person reassurance is called for all around," Rick agrees.

"And I need to get back to work," Kate adds. "Our whirlwind tour has used up most of my vacation days, and I want to save what's left for our real honeymoon."

"You know," Rick considers, "until then, we could do a staycation of sorts, whenever we have the time. New York is one of the world's tourist meccas, and aside from the obvious attractions, like the Statue of Liberty and Times Square, there are always nooks and crannies and out of the way corners to explore. And I haven't been to the museum with the mummies since we caught the murderer and broke the curse. If we explore together, we can see things through fresh eyes."

Kate takes a sip of spicy tomato juice. "Playing tourist in our own city could be fun, but I still want a real honeymoon."

"On that, we are in complete agreement."

Francis regards the latest newscast from Russia, relating the sad tale of Viktor Pamshenko who accidentally fell from the platform to the tracks in the path of an oncoming subway train. "Accidentally my ass!" he exclaims to Danberg. "Well, at least he's gone. Pamshenko was the center of the web from which the sleeper cells were spun out. We went after as much of the organization as we could, and without him, the Russians will have difficulty reconstituting it. Chances are they'll concentrate even more on their cyber incursions instead."

"Is that better or worse?" Danberg wonders.

Francis throws up his hands. 'Who knows? But our people better get on the stick to combat it. Are the Beckett-Castles safely settled back in New York?"

"They are, Sir," and Paul Geeson returned to Indiana. We pulled a few strings to get him a better teaching position," Danberg replies.

"Don't let him get too comfortable. He did a damn good job, and we may need him again."

"I don't know how well that will work. Practically the moment he touched down, he put himself out on an internet dating service for LBGTQs. His face and his profile will be all over the web."

"Honeymoons, dating - things would be a lot less screwed up without people spending so much time on their love lives."

Danberg considers the candlelight meal he's planning with an operative of a sister agency. "If you say so, Sir."

* * *

After a long dinner that Martha mercifully had catered by a nearby Italian Deli, and trying to answer all of Alexis' questions without spilling any classified information, Rick and Kate are ready to call it a night. Rick wraps his arms around Kate as she spoons into the curve of his body and presses his lips to the skin of her shoulder. "I guess all's well that ends well."

Kate sighs, setting into the warmth of Rick's embrace. "Not quite ended. I got a text from Ryan. They got a fresh one. I'm going to join them in the investigation in the morning."

"**We're** going to join them," Rick corrects. "The Beckett-Castles, crimebusters extraordinaire will be back on the job."

Finis

A/N I hope you enjoyed this interlude. My next story will be a different AU. I'll begin when Rick rescues Kate from the submerged car in Pandora/Linchpin, but from there, things will go quite differently. Join me for "Too Close," Love, Sally


End file.
